I became a father
Tin can shooter
Makes us ready
He lies in waiting
And I hope we find it
Before they find it
So I tell stories
Make my friends tick
They like me for it
So bring on the papers
'Cause we're ready for it
What makes us ready
The sight of Brower
The taste of, something
The thought of houses
Rows of houses
The sight of Brower
The taste of something
The thought of houses
Rows of houses
Rows of houses

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