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Wood Jackson
(
David Bowie )
Jackson made twenty tapes in a day
To give away
Not give away
And he'd play the tunes that Wood created will be running out of mates
Heavens know he's really torn it
Now but the names of Purple Jackson stopped the haters in his way
Heaven knows he's for it
Shame, hey hey
He was never quite sure but really sane
Wants to play
Jackson stole twenty souls in a day
To take away
A take away
He takes away
And no complaints
Hearts upon his sleeve and his blade
Wood Jackson took the beating every day
Given up, passed away
Come away
Hey hey
Just wants to play
And how he'd play
The mob they bleedin' tremble and they're running after life
Heavens know he's really torn it now
The words that killed Wood Jackson's friends were written on the wall
Heavens knows he's for it
Shame
Just wants to play
It's a shame
Shame
It's a shame
Wants to play
It's a shame
It's a shame
Just wants to play
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