| She’s like no one
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| You’ve met before
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| A rare little flower
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| A precious stone
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| Unpolished, upturned, gritty and growing up
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| She’s resilient in the shade of adversity
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| Rebellious in the face of a threat
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| Amiable, changeable
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| You’ll like her 'til she
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| Knocks your block off
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| If you step on her
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| Once cobbled toes
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| That they stole
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| That they sold
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| Like her rights from under her stout dipped nose
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| Her sons fought and died
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| Gave their lives
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| As her daughters heavily bled
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| In backstreets from dim lit desperate deeds
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| Drugs blackened her teeth
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| But her spirit, her mind, is blindingly bright
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| And a beautiful sight to behold
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| Her heart has been broken
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| Bruised, dropped, used up
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| She’s suffered taunts, been ridiculed
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| And labelled by fools
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| So when you pick her up
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| Don’t patronise her
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| Talk to her
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| Look her straight in the eye
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| And see her glory blind you sideways, frontways
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| Every bleedin' way
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| She’s a handsome one
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| But don’t drench her in praise
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| That makes her squirm
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| Beyond her pale confine
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| Let her rise with a pride
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| That can only be earned
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| From the life she has given
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| To all who have lived within her
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| She’s in my blood
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| She’s in my core
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| She is me
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| And I am her
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| She’s free, she’s a fine thing
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| But not your thing nor my thing
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| Not a nun nor a moll
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| Between you, me and the wall
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| That lady taking liberties
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| She’s the belle of the ball |