| Outside in New Orleans the heat was almost frightening
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| But my hotel room as usual was freezing and unkind
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| On TV they prosecute anyone who’s exciting
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| So I put on my overcoat and went down to find
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| In Revlon and Crimplene they captured my heart
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| To the strain of a piano and a cocktail murderess
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| She was singing that «It's Too Late», I agreed with that part
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| For two English girls who had changed their address
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| Now it seems we’ve been crying for years and for years
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| Now I don’t speak any English, just American without tears
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| Just American without tears
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| One had been a beauty queen and the other was her friend
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| They had known rogues and rascals and showbiz impresarios
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| While the boys were licking Hitler they had something to defend
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| From men armed with chewing gum and fine nylon hose
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| By a bicycle factory as they sounded the siren
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| And returned into the dance hall she knew he was the one
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| Though he wasn’t tall or handsome she laughed when he told her
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| «I'm the Sheriff of Nottingham and this is Little John»
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| At a dock in Southampton full of tearful goodbyes
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| Newsreel commentators said «Cheerio, G.I. |
| brides»
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| Soon they’ll be finding the cold facts and lies
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| New words for suspenders and young girls backsides
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| Now I’m in America and running from you
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| Like my grandfather before me walked the streets of New York
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| And I think of all the women I pretend mean more than you
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| When I open my mouth and I can’t seem to talk |