| No, you can’t judge a man
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| By the color of his skin
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| You can’t rate his cool
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| By the scruff on his chin
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| Don’t know what makes him tick
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| By the Rolex on his wrist
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| But you can judge a man
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| By the woman he’s with
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| By the woman he’s with
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| That’s why I say
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| You know the measure of a man
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| Just how tall he stands
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| By the woman he’s with
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| Thing is, she had too much Tanqueray
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| And did a Roma dance for me
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| Though my eyes went bug
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| My heart could not agree
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| Next thing you know
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| Dude’s comin' at me with a stick
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| Oh, you can judge a man
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| By the woman he’s with
|
| I’ll say it again
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| You know the measure of a man
|
| Just how tall he stands
|
| You know the size of his stones
|
| Just what kind of backbone
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| Her eyes are the window to his soul
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| And by the looks of it she’s swallowed him whole
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| The mere thought of her makes his knees weak
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| When he opens his mouth it is her I hear speak
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| Even now I hear her speak
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| No, I really don’t get
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| This cold war that I am in
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| There’s a knife in my back
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| Where my good friend has been
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| She’s the moon, he’s the sun
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| And I am under an eclipse
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| Yeah, you can judge a man
|
| You know the measure of a man
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| Say it again
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| You know the measure of a man
|
| Just how tall he stands
|
| You know the size of his stones
|
| Just what kind of backbone
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| You know the measure of a man
|
| You know the size of his stones
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| By the woman he’s with
|
| You know the measure of a man
|
| By the woman he’s with |