| They talked to the sister, the father and the mother
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| With a microphone in one hand and a checkbook in the other
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| And the camera noses in to the tears of her face
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| The tears on her face
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| You can put them back together with your paper and paste
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| But you can’t put them back together
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| You can’t put them back together
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| What would you say?
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| What would you do?
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| Children and animals two by two
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| Give me the needle
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| Give me the rope
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| We’re going to melt them down for pills and soap
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| Give me the needle
|
| Give me the rope
|
| Four and twenty crowbars, jemmy your desire
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| Out of the frying pan into the fire
|
| The king is in the counting house
|
| Some folk have all the luck
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| And all we get are pictures of lord and lady muck
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| They come from lovely people with a hard line in hypocrisy
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| There are ashtrays of emotion for the fag ends of the aristocracy
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| The sugar coated pill is getting bitterer still
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| You think your country needs you but you know it never will
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| So pack up your troubles in a stolen handbag
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| Don’t dilly dally boys rally round the flag
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| Give us your daily bread in individual slices
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| And something in the daily rag to cancel any crisis
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| We’re going to melt them down for pills and soap |