| Hello you straight-laced lady,
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| dressed in white but your shoes aren’t clean.
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| Painted them up with polish
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| in the hope we can’t see where you’ve been.
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| The smiling face that you’ve worn
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| to greet me rising at morning --
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| sent me out to work for my score.
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| Please me and say what it’s for.
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| Give me the straight-laced promise
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| and not the pathetic lie.
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| Tie me down with your ribbons
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| and sulk when I ask you why.
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| Your Sunday paper voice cries
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| demanding truths I deny.
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| The bitter-sweet kiss you pretended
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| is offered, our affair mended.
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| Sossity: You’re a woman.
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| Society: You’re a woman.
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| All of the tears you’re wasting
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| are for yourself and not for me.
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| It’s sad to know you’re aging
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| Sadder still to admit I’m free.
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| Your immature physical toy has grown,
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| too young to enjoy at last your straight-laced agreement:
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| woman, you were too old for me.
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| Sossity: You’re a woman.
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| Society: You’re a woman. |