| Got a daughter who’ll eat anything
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| They like to feed her words, words, words
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| And tell her, Watch for the plague, girl, check your stool
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| Or we’ll send you to reformatory school
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| And make a man out of you
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| They’ll press what is left into new
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| They’ll press what is left into new
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| They’ll press what is left into new
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| Out of dust, out of empty space
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| From the bedroom to the marketplace
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| You be bold, but not too bold, and frame it all in gold, in gold
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| Your credibility is broken in two
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| But we’ll press what is left into new
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| We’ll press what is left into new
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| We’ll press what is left into new
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| Let’s sing a song about a woman’s rage
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| Sing a song about an empty stage
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| A song, a song about how to sing
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| A song song song about everything!
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| You’re tough, for a girl, and you’re smart, for a girl
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| Stop, stop your ears from burning and fill my stomach with your singing
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| Concern concern concern yourself with the invisible!
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| Concern concern concern yourself with the incredible!
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| Don’t turn to motherhood so fast, you have been blinded
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| There’s a word for all you keep inside
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| And though you try to hide it, we will write it! |