| Housemartins
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| Now That’s What I Call Quite Good…
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| I Can’t Put My Finger On It
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| As Martin said to Xanthe
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| As they played with wooden toys.
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| «You may have Wendy’s playhouse,
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| But where the hell’s your boy?»
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| As Paul said to Fifi
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| As they eyed each other up,
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| You may have better plimpsoles
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| But you can’t pee standing up."
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| And I’d like to take time to bite
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| Their neck and make it bleed
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| Or maybe I could cut holes in their
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| Daddy’s Harris Tweed
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| And I can’t put my finger on it
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| Maybe it’s something in their food
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| And I can’t put my finger on it
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| All I know Christ would’ve sued.
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| As Sharon said to Jamie
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| As they sat down for a chat
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| «If you think I’m cooking dinner,
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| Well, prepare to eat dead rat.»
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| As Debbie said to Alex
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| As they held hands in the park,
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| «How comes you wear Rupert Check
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| When you think you’re so hard.»
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| I should’ve done his Land Rover
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| To let him know I’d been,
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| Instead I wrote «F' off»
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| On the dirt across his screen
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| I wish I’d let them know I was here
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| A drop of arsenic in the wine,
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| Sulfuric acid in the beer. |