Money, get away. Get a good job with good pay and you're okay. Money, it's a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash. New car, caviar, four star daydream, Think I'll buy me a football team.
Money, get back. I'm all right Jack keep your hands off of my stack. Money, it's a hit. Don't give me that do goody good bullshit. I'm in the high-fidelity first class traveling set And I think I need a Lear jet.
Money, it's a crime. Share it fairly but don't take a slice of my pie. Money, so they say Is the root of all evil today. But if you ask for a raise it's no surprise that they're giving none away.
"HuHuh! I was in the right!" "Yes, absolutely in the right!" "I certainly was in the right!" "You was definitely in the right. That geezer was cruising for a bruising!" "Yeah!" "Why does anyone do anything?" "I don't know, I was really drunk at the time!" "I was just telling him, he couldn't get into number 2. He was asking why he wasn't coming up on freely, after I was yelling and screaming and telling him why he wasn't coming up on freely. It came as a heavy blow, but we sorted the matter out"
As the son of a son of a sailor, I went out on the sea for adventure, Expanding ther view of the captain and crew Like a man just released from indenture.
As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man, I have chalked up many a mile. Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks, And I've learned much from both of their styles.
Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor. Son of a gun; load the last ton One step ahead of the jailer.
Now away in the near future, southeast of disorder, You can shake the hand of the mango man As he greets you at the border.
And the lady she hails from Trinidad, Island of the spices. Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet, And the rum is for all your good vices.
Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind that our Forefathers harnessed before us. Hear the bells ring as the tide rigging sings. It's a son of a gun of a chorus.
Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends. If I knew, I might toss out my anchor. So I'll cruise along always searchin' for songs, Not a lawyer, a thief or a banker.
But a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor. Son of a gun, load the last ton One step ahead of the jailer I'm just a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains. I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer.
Get a good job with good pay and you're okay.
Money, it's a gas.
Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.
New car, caviar, four star daydream,
Think I'll buy me a football team.
Money, get back.
I'm all right Jack keep your hands off of my stack.
Money, it's a hit.
Don't give me that do goody good bullshit.
I'm in the high-fidelity first class traveling set
And I think I need a Lear jet.
Money, it's a crime.
Share it fairly but don't take a slice of my pie.
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise it's no surprise that they're
giving none away.
"HuHuh! I was in the right!"
"Yes, absolutely in the right!"
"I certainly was in the right!"
"You was definitely in the right. That geezer was cruising for a bruising!"
"Yeah!"
"Why does anyone do anything?"
"I don't know, I was really drunk at the time!"
"I was just telling him, he couldn't get into number 2. He was asking
why he wasn't coming up on freely, after I was yelling and screaming
and telling him why he wasn't coming up on freely. It came as a heavy
blow, but we sorted the matter out"
Reply
As the son of a son of a sailor,
I went out on the sea for adventure,
Expanding ther view of the captain and crew
Like a man just released from indenture.
As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man,
I have chalked up many a mile.
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks,
And I've learned much from both of their styles.
Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun; load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer.
Now away in the near future, southeast of disorder,
You can shake the hand of the mango man
As he greets you at the border.
And the lady she hails from Trinidad,
Island of the spices.
Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet,
And the rum is for all your good vices.
Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind that our
Forefathers harnessed before us.
Hear the bells ring as the tide rigging sings.
It's a son of a gun of a chorus.
Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends.
If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.
So I'll cruise along always searchin' for songs,
Not a lawyer, a thief or a banker.
But a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun, load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer
I'm just a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor
The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains.
I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer.
Reply
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