| She’s a mixed up kind of girl
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| the kind you wish you’d never met
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| and like a dried up pot of glue
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| she only sticks when she is wet.
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| She went to school two days a week
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| She learned to take what she could get
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| She took the apple from my desk
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| and now look she’s teacher’s pet
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| They took the country from
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| the girl but there’s a country in her head
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| She left the country for a boy
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| It was a boy she’d never met
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| They bought a matching pair of gloves
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| and holding hands she lost her head
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| She learned to sacrifice her love
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| and now look she’s teacher’s pet.
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| She’s a magazine
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| she’s a magazine
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| she’s a magazine, tonight.
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| She’s a magazine
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| she’s a magazine
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| she’s a magazine, alright.
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| They took the country from the girl
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| Under the carpet she was swept
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| She took the country from the world
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| and now look she’s teacher’s pet. |