| You pull the string
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| She’s your plaything
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| You can make her or break her, it’s true
|
| You abuse her, accuse her
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| Turn her round and use her
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| Then forsake her any time it suits you
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| There’s more to her than powder and paint
|
| Than her peroxided bleached-out hair
|
| And if she acts that way
|
| It’s 'cause you’ve had your day
|
| Don’t put her down, you helped put her there
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| She hangs around
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| Playing her clown
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| While her soul is aching inside
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| She’s heartbreak’s child
|
| She just lives for your smile
|
| To build her up in a world made by man
|
| There’s more to her than powder and paint
|
| Than her peroxided bleached-out hair
|
| And if she acts that way
|
| It’s 'cause you’ve had your day
|
| Don’t put her down, you helped put her there
|
| At the house down the way
|
| You sneak and you pay
|
| For her love, her body or her shame
|
| Then you call yourself a man
|
| And say you just don’t understand
|
| How a woman could turn out that way
|
| There’s more to her than powder and paint
|
| The men she picks up at the bar
|
| And if she acts that way
|
| It’s 'cause you’ve had your day |
| Don’t put her down, you helped put her there
|
| And if she acts that way
|
| It’s 'cause you’ve had your day
|
| Don’t put her down, you helped put her there |