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In my corner of the nation
I have a bad reputation
Whether I speak or I shut up
They treat me like a you-know-what
Yet I do no damage to anyone
Following the road of the simple tongue
But good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
No, good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
Everyone likes to curse at me
Except the mutes, obviously
The morning of Independence day
My cozy bed is where I lay
The music of the marching bands
Doesn't impress me worth a damn
Yet I mean no one any harm at all
When I shut my ears to the bugle call
But good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
No, good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
They point a finger right at me
Except, of course, the amputees
When I cross a thief on the run
Chased by angry Farmer John
I stick out my foot as they pass
And Farmer John lands on his ass
Yet it's not my wish to cause any grief
Championing the cause of the petty thief
But good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
No, good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
The mob will chase me with their flames
Except, of course, for all the lame
No need to be Jeremy
To see where my story leads
If they find a suitable rope
They will slip it around my throat
Yet I do no damage to beast or man
When I shun the path to the Vatican
But good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
No, good folks don't appreciate
Someone whose path may deviate
The world will watch my hanging day
Except the blind, or so they say
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