| I want a girl to make a mess
|
| To do no wrong she must confess
|
| And then perhaps hitch up her dress
|
| 'Cos when the flashbulbs explode
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| She’s such a sensitive soul…
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| I want a girl who is helpless and frail
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| Who won’t pull on my ponytail
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| I want a girl who has no past
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| She’s made up now
|
| But that won’t last
|
| 'Cos when she sits on my knee
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| And then she whispers to me
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| 'Can't you see
|
| I could be, I could be
|
| Your spooky girlfriend…'
|
| The broken toys are all scattered in the attic
|
| Newspapers play with the words of the fanatic
|
| While the greeting cards are your most poetic lyric
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| And the flat champagne is sweet sugar syrup
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| I want to paint you with glitter and with dirt
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| Picture you with innocence and hurt
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| The shutter closes
|
| Exposes the shot
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| She says, «Are you looking up my skirt?»
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| When you say «No»
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| She says «Why not?»
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| I want a girl to turn my screw
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| To wind my watch, to buckle my shoe
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| And if she won’t her mother will do
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| But when she does as she’s told
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| We’ll all turn platinum and gold
|
| But when she sits on my knee
|
| I hear her whispers to me
|
| 'Can't you see?'
|
| 'I could be your spooky girlfriend.' |