| This girl is made of lipstick
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| Powder and paint
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| Sees the pictures of herself
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| Every magazine on every shelf
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| This girl is maid of Bond Street
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| Hailing cabs, lunches with executives
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| Gleaming teeth sip aperitifs
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| This girl is a lonely girl
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| Takes the train from Paddington to Oxford Circus
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| Buys the Daily News
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| But passengers don’t smile at her, don’t smile at her
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| This girl is made of loneliness
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| A broken heart
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| For the boy that she once knew
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| Doesn’t want to know her any more
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| And this girl is a lonely girl
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| Every thing she wants is hers
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| But she can’t make it with the boy she really wants to be with
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| All the time, to love, all the time
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| This boy is made of envy
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| Jealousy
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| He doesn’t have a limousine
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| Really wants to be a star himself
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| This girl, her world is made of flashlights and films
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| Her cares are scraps on the cutting room floor
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| And maids of Bond Street drive round in chauffered cars
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| Maids of Bond Street picture clothes, eyes of stars
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| Maids of Bond Street shouldn’t have worldly cares
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| Maids of Bond Street shouldn’t have love affairs |