| Said it to me, once
|
| Then over and over
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| You keep on repeating
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| You’re a happy, happy mother
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| Maybe you’re in clover
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| But most of us sweat at the sight
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| Of this perfection and a perfect complexion
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| This infatuation and assisted sparks
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| Maybe you understand
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| The reasons why you have to hold hands
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| But I don’t understand
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| The ins and outs of milk and honey land
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| Milk and honey land
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| Oh, say it to me over
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| That this place is not like any other
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| It’s a room it’s a thought it’s a bed it’s an oven
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| It’s the places where you go to do the jumping and the loving
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| Say it to me over
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| I’m in peace, I’m in clover
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| Let me give thanks to your love life pranks
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| You told her that to love her with two fingers in her hands
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| Oh, I can’t conceive
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| Or even think of acting I gotta believe
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| I can tell inside that what’s mine and yours
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| You’ve got it figured out that ambition is for boars/bores
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| So I’m yelling «love's the only answer!»
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| You insist the weather and then bitch about the dancing
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| What a cheap gospel or a desperate Romeo
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| There’s a famous liar saying where the rest can go
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| I love your whole idea
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| Of harmony and bliss and little virgin kids
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| I love your heavenly expression and sighs
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| When you bump up through the depression of our lives
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| Oh, the depression of our lives
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| Oh, am I such a madman to admit I dislike you?
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| What is so unusual about it, oh, about me? |