| It’s a chilly Florentine evening
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| Two men in evening hats
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| Telling tales of the underground and
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| Fishing for Reds
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| Policemen armed with Uzis
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| Stand guard but they don’t speak
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| Ain’t seen no Michaelangelo
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| He’ll be here next week
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| The girl in the shoes
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| With the crystal heels went chaperoned by her brother
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| They raise a glass of amber wine
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| Take pictures of each other
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| Of the policemen in the fountains
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| And the sickle and the hammer
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| And they came with Uncle Romulus
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| With his walking cane and camera
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| She looked like someone’s girlfriend
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| She looked like a dream
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| She looked as unlikely
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| As the people’s limousine
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| Come and sit by me, girl, before I breathe the breath out of you
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| Hush your mouth and cover your eyes for I’ll tell your father of you
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| He paid to have you painted in the company of angels
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| Only to find you flirting anew with Chico Marx and perverted Engels
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| The patron saint of television smiles down from the shelf
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| Romulus can’t criticize but he can’t bless himself
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| He has a tin of pea-green paint and a big roll of black tape
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| To vandalize these obscenities then make his escape
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| She walked up to the nice policeman and asked him for a match
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| He saw Romulus approaching and slipped off the safety catch
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| Then cut down her uncle, he was painted red and green
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| Just as she was kidnapped in the people’s limousine |