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Johnny works in a factory 
Billy works downtown
Terry works in a rock and roll band
Looking for that million dollar sound

I got a job down in
Johnny works in a factory 
Billy works downtown
Terry works in a rock and roll band
Looking for that million dollar sound

I got a job down in
Words by Adrian Mitchell, music by Arlo Guthrie

Victor Jara of Chile
Lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile
With his songs
move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others." 

"It's the last great adventure left to mankind"
- Screams a drooping lady
Strange foreign chaps in white bed-sheets:
Uniforms.
See golden halo'd men of high renown,
Prance to the politicians' beat.
Well tailored in unswerving
and a spare in the back
Lord who could ever ask for more
Sitting up high as the world goes by
Kicking-up dust in your tracks
It's a matter of pride
the future tracks from the past)
This is radio-mass (I'm a thief I stole the beat)
This is radio-mass (Tracks from the future tracks from the past)
This is
teeth
And Reebok classics on his feet
At a factory he does Nike
And then helps the family

Beat heart beat
He's made it to the newsweek
Sweetheart
So you know you got to go when tech n9ne give you this track
So I call on krizz, rittz and prozak, let's go!

(here we go again! haha! hey tech,
So you know you got to go when tech n9ne give you this track
So I call on krizz, rittz and prozak, let's go!

(here we go again! haha! hey tech,
And them bomb beats
To make me move

Color of dead
Looks like the future is history

Why you dissin me
Ain't no mystery

On the outside peekin in
End of your
For the groove
And them bomb beats
To make me move

Color of dead
Looks like the future is history

Why you dissin' me
ain't no mystery
of my life

Remember then? bit o honey days
Back when 8-tracks were the craze with that Far-out sound
And the future seemed so far away
And we'd
Uhh! Check it out, yo; it's called, uh, well, uh
"K Sera Sera," whatever will be will be
And the track is kinda in there, so lemme bust a li'l
A li'l
Ad Libs 
Made in America 
Nineteen fifty nine 
Born down by the factories 
Cross the Jersey City line 
Raised on radio 
Just a jukebox kid 
I
so repetitive
Although I ain't your blood or your cuz, it's all relative
I got a gang of rhymes and Tones' beats is banging
We moving through
intrigued by the drum
Death only one can save shell from
This relentless attack of the track spares none

Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look at all these crab niggas
The dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum
Death only one can save shell from
This relentless attack of the track spares none

Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look
The dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum
Death only one can save shell from
This relentless attack of the track spares none

Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look
There's just one track
The weight on you shoulders
Is only in your mind
The future's here
Leave the rest behind

The world is waiting
Take what you
The dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum
Death only one can save shell from
This relentless attack of the track spares none

Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look
The lyrics in this song are quotes from Twin Peaks, Episode 9 (2002) 'Coma' during a conversation between Major Briggs (played by Don S. Davis)
(
I grew up here on Bourbon Street
Playin' for the beer and tips
Livin' by the Poncha Train
Watchin' drunks and sailin' ships
I'm sittin'
The dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum
Death only one can save shell from
This relentless attack of the track spares none

Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look
The dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum
Death only one can save shell from
This relentless attack of the track spares none

Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look