| The streets are paved with mud and death
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| The whores have wheezed their dying breath
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| With gin and piss and blood and gold
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| The grim foundations have their hold
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| The babes are blue, their rags are black
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| She’ll whore with child strapped to her back
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| You lift her skirt and find the key
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| To lust and sin and misery
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| This is the life of a two-penny whore
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| Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore
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| The gold of youth’s turned foetid brown
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| The walls have all come tumbling down
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| She drinks from pain, she drinks for glee
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| She drinks with the hope it’ll set her free
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| With lips a-snarl and eyes rolled back
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| The dart will find the Devil’s crack
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| A whore can weave her spell of lust
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| Then cast you face-down in the dust
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| This is the life of a two-penny whore
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| Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore
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| She’ll slit your purse and make you poor
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| Then slit your throat at Satan’s door
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| This is the life of a two-penny whore
|
| Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore
|
| She’ll slit your purse and make you poor
|
| Then slit your throat at Satan’s door
|
| This is the life of a two-penny whore
|
| Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore
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| With pox and stench and weeping sore
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| Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore |