| Spy, spy, pretty girl
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| I see you see me through your window
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| Don’t turn your nose up Well, you can if you need to, you won’t be the first or last
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| It must strain you to look down so far from your father’s house
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| And I know what a louse like me in his house could do for you
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| I’m the cream
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| Of the great utopia dream
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| And you’re in the gleam
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| In the depths of your banker’s splean
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| I’m a phallus in pigtails
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| And there’s blood on my nose
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| And my tissue is rotting
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| Where the reats chew my bones
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| And my eye sockets empty
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| See nothing but pain
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| I keep having this brainstorm
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| About twelve times a day
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| So now, You could spend the morning walking with me Quite amazed
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| As I am Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed
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| I got eyes in my backside
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| That see electric tomatos
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| On credit card rye bread
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| There are children in washrooms
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| Holding hands with a queen
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| And my heads full of murders
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| Where only killers scream
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| So now you could spend your morning talking with me Quite amazed
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| Look out, I’m raving mad and Somewhat Slightly Dazed
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| Now you run from your window
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| To the porcelain bowl
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| And you’re sick from your ears
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| To the red parquet floor
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| And the braque on the wall
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| Slides down your front
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| And eats through your belly
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| It’s very catching
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| So now, you should spend the mornings lying to your father quite amazed
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| About the stramge Unwashed and Happily Slightly Dazed. |