| Quiet please, there’s a lady on stage.
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| She may not be the latest rage,
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| But she’s singing, and she means it.
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| And she deserves a little silence.
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| Quiet please, there’s a woman up there,
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| And she’s been honest through her songs
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| Long before your consciousness was raised.
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| Now doesn’t that deserve a little praise.
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| So put your hands together, help her along,
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| All that’s left of the singers, all that’s left of the song.
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| Stand for the ovation,
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| And give her one last celebration.
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| Quiet please, there’s a person up there,
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| Who’s singing of the sins that none of us could bear
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| To hear for ourselves,
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| Now give her your respect if nothing else.
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| So put your hands together, help her along,
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| All that’s left of the singers, all that’s left of the song.
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| Rise to the occasion,
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| And give her one last celebration.
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| Quiet please, there’s a lady on stage.
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| Conductor, turn the final page.
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| When it’s over, we can all go home.
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| She lives on on the stage alone.
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| So put your hands together, help her along,
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| All that’s left of the singers, all that’s left of the song.
|
| Stand for the ovation,
|
| And give her one last celebration.
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| Put your hands together, help her along,
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| Let’s just stay here all night; |
| let’s sing every song.
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| Won’t you rise, rise to the occasion,
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| Yes, give her, one last, just one last celebration. |