| While Nat King Cole sings «Welcome To My World»
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| You request some song you hate you sentimental fool
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| And it’s the force of habit
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| If it moves then you fuck it
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| If it doesn’t move you stab it
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| And I thought I heard «The Working Man’s Blues»
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| He went out to work that night and wasted his breath
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| Outside there was a public execution
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| Inside he died a thousand deaths
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| And they pulled him out of the cold cold ground
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| And they pulled him out of the cold cold ground
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| And they pulled him out of the cold cold ground
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| And they put him in a suit of lights
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| In the perforated first editions
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| Where they advocate the hangman’s noose
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| Then tell the sorry tale of the spent princess
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| Her uncouth escort looking down her dress
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| Anyway they say that she wears the trousers
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| And learnt everything that she does
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| And doesn’t know if she should tell him yes
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| Or let him go
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| Well it’s a dog’s life
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| In a rope leash or a diamond collar
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| It’s enough to make you think right now
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| But you don’t bother
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| For goodness sake as you cry and shake
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| Let’s keep you face down in the dirt where you belong
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| And think of all the pleasure that it brings
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| Though you know that it’s wrong
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| And there’s still life in your body
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| But most of it’s leaving
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| Can’t you give us all a break
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| Can’t you stop breathing
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| And I thought I heard «The Working Man’s Blues»
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| I went to work that night and wasted my breath
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| Outside they’re painting tar on somebody
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| It’s the closest to a work of art that they will ever be
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| And they put him in a suit of lights
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| And they put him in a suit of lights |