| When I first met Belinda
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| It was down in Corpus Christi
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| Back in August I believe, back in '53
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| She was workin' as a dancer
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| And her life-size tinted photo
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| Beckoned tantalizingly from a marquee
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| The red neon was flashin'
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| Music poured out on the street
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| And the club, I’m sure, had seen it’s better days
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| And a sea of bleary eyes
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| And upturned faces watched Belinda
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| As she danced within the noisy, smoky haze
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| You may know my body
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| But you cannot know my mind
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| She moved her lips but didn’t make a sound
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| You may know my body
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| But you cannot know my mind
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| Then she’d dip and twirl and smile and dance around
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| Belinda was a beauty
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| She revealed her body slowly
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| So that all the cowboys strained and craned to see
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| Her sequined skirts would swirl and twirl
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| And catch the light and sparkle
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| And Belinda’s eyes would wander restlessly
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| Now, I did not know Belinda
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| When she was a little girl
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| But as a child, I’m sure she often dreamed
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| And I used to wonder, used to ponder
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| Just what did go wrong
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| But then Belinda was not always what she seemed
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| You may know my body
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| But you cannot know my mind
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| She moved her lips but didn’t make a sound
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| You may know my body
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| But you cannot know my mind
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| Then she’d dip and twirl and smile and dance around
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| Then one night I wrote a hasty note
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| And threw it on the stage
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| Askin' her if she would have a drink with me
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| And we talked of many things
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| About the sunshine and the country
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| And a tear came to her eye quite suddenly
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| And I listened to her, thought about her
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| Finally, I asked her
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| «Tell me, Belinda, what does your life mean?»
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| She looked me in the eye
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| And told me «Forty bucks a week
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| And to be a damn good dancin' burlesque queen»
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| «Ah, you may know my body
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| But you cannot know my mind»
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| She said to me as she prepared to go
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| You may know my body
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| But you cannot know my mind
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| Then she laughed and left to do a second show |