| Every day I see you wearing things
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| That have never been worn before
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| While the children at the government schools
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| Send money for the poor
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| And all you buy, you bargain for
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| With your little man
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| So that from your silks down to your paramour
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| You’re tres, tres paragon
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| So it’s back beach in the summer
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| The chalet for the snow
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| You poor hoochie Gucci Fiorucci mama
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| You got really no place to go
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| Antiques flown in from Venice
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| Fill your house upon the hill
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| While your money sold the soul of rock and roll
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| For some cheap disco thrill
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| I’ve seen your peers pouting over beers
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| The loneliness it showed
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| Mistaking tacky sex for sensuality
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| They bought in Toorak Road
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| So it’s back beach in the summer
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| The chalet for the snow
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| You poor hoochie Gucci Fiorucci mama
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| You got really no place to go
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| Inside her empty castle
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| Her lonely heart will dwell
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| The life that she’s been losing’s
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| Like some stony bagatelle
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| The loving that you never found
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| Don’t know the reason why
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| Oh, hoochie Gucci Fiorucci mama
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| Don’t you cry |