| Dressed up like a dog’s dinner
|
| Butter wouldn’t melt on your paws
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| If this is a dog’s life then you’re the cat’s clothes
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| They hire out your sons and hire out your daughters
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| The man from abroad says he’s already bought her
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| And now you look like a lover but you’re only a tourist
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| You’re either talking or yawning
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| You didn’t listen to a thing you heard
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| Don’t start your morning moaning or you might wake up in Luxembourg
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| You get up, you get over
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| You’re worried by her body
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| She’s worrying about her bodily odor
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| You pull off the pull over
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| You say that you love her when you really loathe her
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| Serves you right now she wants you to feed her and clothe her
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| You’re either talking or yawning
|
| You didn’t listen to a thing you heard
|
| Don’t start your morning moaning or you might wake up in Luxembourg
|
| Well they’re smiling sweetly while they’re looking daggers
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| Kick you where it really matters
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| Send all your friends to Coventry
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| And look for your name in last night’s obituaries
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| If you’ve got the Deutschmarks
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| If you’ve got the Yen, then
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| You get the shirt off her back and the clock off Big Ben
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| Somebody’s soft touch struck all these bargains
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| In the drinking clubs with the council men
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| Making plans to put lead back in their pencils again
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| You’re either talking or yawning
|
| You didn’t listen to a thing you heard
|
| Don’t start your morning moaning or you might wake up in Luxembourg
|
| Well
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| Well well well
|
| Well well well
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| Well well well
|
| Ooh ooh
|
| Well
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| I feel well in Luxembourg |