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Teddy Pendergrass - Younger Days lyrics
When I was young I used play on the old man's apple tree
 When I was young I used to scream out Ollie Ollie auxen free
 To young to blame it on these mistakes
 to old to have any excuse for the trouble it makes
 generations apart from my old wrinkled eyes
 following the childish breadcrumbs that keep falling from the skies
 It's the piece of mind that grows from this fine tuned machine
 accomplish self fulfillment with a unfamiliar scheme
 My motivation to be an adult has decided to catapult
 me over the picket fence to land on my 2.5 kids
 I used to play in the sandbox with the same little voices
 And I would always remember to bring a spare vine
 The chimes from the clock would signify recess and
 tell all the kids that it's snack time
 I'm Less than a cartoon away from being the last in line
 Kickball is my life juice boxes are my therapists
 those are the simple pleasures that used to get
 and they now leave me here motionless
 walking to the mailbox to send my life away with a signature
 I remember all the jokes we used to tell each other stop you're killing herTeddy Pendergrass - Younger Days - http://motolyrics.com/teddy-pendergrass/younger-days-lyrics.html
 you almost crushed that pray mantis
 A crime punishable by death that would put your name on the list
 rumor is that Santa Claus compiles pages worth of information
 but that fake fairy tale has nothing on the damage I have done
 I broke 4 windows, chased 5 girls, not to mention the cats I taunted
 And still this year I got every present that I wanted
 I believed in folk lore and made wagers for peanut butter sandwiches
 the blissful innocence that gave me attention when I had new bandages
 Yhe transition is identified as growing up but I lost interest in
 the responsibility that kills your first star wishes
 The corner of the room had my initials with a dunce cap that's colored and shaped
 to match perfectly with my superhero cape
 But now my cape is replaced with a button-down shirt and a mature smirk
 that shows my soul to be nothing of worth
 Finger-painting and typing, my marvelous hands at work
 The difference in creating for my cause or as someone else's clerk
 No more kisses on the cheek and red faces from embarrassment
 It's the long drawn out process and regretting words I sort of meant








