| Sometimes I hear your whistle
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| As I walk the dogs across the skateboard park
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| And though I know you’ve gone uptown
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| I look for you in every doorway on St Mark’s
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| 'Cause even though I’m not a canine
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| And my bark is usually benign
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| Whatever I’m sniffin', I’ll drop and come runnin' for you
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| I once said that «I'm not an alcoholic
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| There’s just always something to be celebrated»
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| Well true to form I’m pretty woozy this morning
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| 'Cause last night I was inebriated!
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| You’re next to me
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| So everything must be alright
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| You’re next to me
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| So I must have made it home last night
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| It can’t have been too mortifyin'
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| Though I do remember tryin'
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| A handstand against a mirrored wall
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| But oh, I love you, let me
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| And didn’t then forget me
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| But took me home
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| So tell me, did I fall?
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| You’re next to me
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| So nothing really matters anyway
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| You’re next to me
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| And I feel like I’m on my holidays
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| And I mean that the British way
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| Like lyin' on a beach sippin' fruity alcohol
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| Not the American way
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| Which involves religion and is absolutely no fun at all
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| Not that I mean to demean your lovely nation
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| After all, it made you, and you’re a sensation
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| The jubilation of our present situation
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| Could make me lose the urge for any form of masturbation
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| It’s sensational!
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| That you are next to me
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| So everything must be alright
|
| You are next to me
|
| So I must have made it home last night
|
| You are next to me
|
| So nothing really matters anyway
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| You are next to me
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| And I feel like I’m on my holidays
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| I’m amazed that you are next to me |