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Kevin Gordon
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Immigrant
Feel like a immigrant, baby, with the law on his heels Ain't got no papers for the way I feel The man hunts you down, the world bleeds you dry Hangnail moon scraping 'cross a sheet-metal sky
Heart bouncing like a tin can inside my chest Pocket watch hanging from a black leather vest Hands stopped moving 30 years ago I still know when it's time to go
You can declare yourself in a bus station stall Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Carve your name with a knife in the paint on the wall Run the blade thru the guts of an old dog guitar They're drinking up your blood in the butcher's bar
Monotone electric, the swarm of the traffic Holy souls all out among the plastic Jumping for the money, the fat and the chrome— Jesus watched from the window of the old folks' home
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