| Exploring every avenue of love on the honeysuckle highway
|
| Eschewing every vestige of regret we gaily slip along
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| Displaying all the evidence of mirth on the daffodyllic byway
|
| And needing no excuse to have a laugh 'cos we’re doing nothing wrong
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| You want magic? |
| I’ll provide it
|
| You want daydream? |
| You’re inside it
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| You want mystery? |
| It will find you
|
| You’ve got moonbeam right behind you
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| Cruising down carnality canal in my canoe can I canoodle?
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| Rounding every bending that we’re wending in a loopy disarray
|
| Evincing all the properties of rapture with a sybaritic splendour
|
| And shedding every nagging little footle that is getting in the way
|
| You want magic? |
| I can do it
|
| You want lovelight? |
| Nothing to it
|
| You want everything to be groovy?
|
| You got me now, let’s get moving
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| Come with me where the air is free
|
| And spirits can in harmony unite
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| Swim with me in the rainbow sea
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| We’re strangers to catastrophe tonight
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| Where all the clocks tell different times
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| And no one finds the time to be uptight
|
| Where sweet suggestions grow on trees
|
| And love explodes as well indeed it might
|
| Exploring every avenue of love on the honeysuckle highway
|
| And needing no excuse to have a laugh 'cos we’re doing nothing wrong
|
| You want magic? |
| Well, you’ve got it
|
| You want licence? |
| I forgot it
|
| You want romance? |
| Let’s get busy
|
| I’ve got magic to make you dizzy
|
| Come with me to the special place
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| The first thing you get on your face, a smile
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| As secrets flourish in their space
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| So love will cherish every grace and style
|
| When pressure’s on another case
|
| We get along without a trace of bile
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| Though memories we’ll ne’er erase
|
| Our happiness can run apace meanwhile
|
| You wore a bandana, I wore navy blue
|
| We met in Havana at quarter past two
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| Across the Savannah and down to the beach
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| You munched a banana, I nibbled a peach
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| You played a small solo, I muffled a drum
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| You offered a polo, I stuck with my gum
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| I danced a light polka, you threw a few hoops
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| I was Oscar Homolka, you were Marjorie Proops |