I wrote a song about a guy whose love had been untrueThe record's out, my story's told, my friends all know it's trueI hear my song now all day long as tears run down my cheeksThey tell me it's the DJ's choice for Picket of the WeekBut if my song should sell a million copiesThe disc of goldThe disc of goldThe disc of goldIt won't mean a thingNobody knows how much I hurtNo one was there to seeThe tears I cried the night I wroteThe Picket of the WeekBut if my song should sell a million copiesThe disc of goldI get won't mean a thingNobody knows how much I hurtNo one was there to seeThe tears I cried the night I wroteThe Picket of the WeekThe Picket of the WeekThe Picket of the Week
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