| Love is better than a warm trombone when blown
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| Softer by a two tone brother
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| Down on luck by chance
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| Caress the head to find the boogaloo trance
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| With his hands in his pocket he could not lie
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| With his hands in his pocket he began to cry
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| With his hands in his pocket he lowered his eyes
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| He said, «Miss, I ought to apologise»
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| «I've been falling, I’ve fallen down»
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| The river of your love floors souls
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| Getting deeper than the deepest dishwashing bowl
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| Now brother, get the dirt off your hands
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| Getting darker than a sunchaser’s suntan
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| Hands in his pocket he could not lie
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| Hands in his pocket he began to cry
|
| Hands in his pocket he lowered his eyes
|
| He said, «Miss, I ought to apologise»
|
| «I've been falling, I’ve fallen down»
|
| With his hands in his pocket he began to cry
|
| With his hands in his pocket he could not lie
|
| With his hands in his pocket he lowered his eyes
|
| He said, «Miss, I ought to apologise»
|
| «I've been falling, I’ve fallen down» |