February
Monday 3 March 2008 photo 2/3
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In the day, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream. At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines. Sprung from cages on Highway 9 chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected and steppin' out over the line. Oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back. It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap. We gotta get out while we're young. Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run
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