| At the age of seventeen
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| Marie was squeaky clean
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| Never seen the likes of before
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| dream queen of the fashion scene
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| and by that I mean that was what she saw in her head
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| in reality all she had in life was a supermarket salary
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| a calorie obsession, profession was a riot
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| She possessed the physicality
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| Vanity, above all else the derrière
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| that in anything she wear
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| men all stare at the premiere
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| And with a bust on her bum
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| she was gullible too
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| she would trust anyone just like some of us do
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| Her downfall, out on the town ol'
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| brow the unconfident, look at her crown fall
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| Enter raw villain, he’s a Bob Dylan look-alike
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| crooked type, tells young Marie he been watching her
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| that he’s a photographer can he take some shots of her
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| incredible face
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| back at his place maybe later
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| she travels back to his place
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| it’s a disgrace, left the safety of her friends
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| You’re pervert, then she takes off her shirt
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| and as he snaps away she goes:
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| Ahh ahh aw oh ah ow, ahh ahh aw oh ah ow,
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| ahh ahh aw oh ah ow, ahh ahh aw oh,
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| ahh ahh aw oh…
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| It’s pretty clear that this dude with the camera is having her
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| mistaken for a mug, but Marie won’t pull the plug
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| He says; |
| «Your breasts are magnificent»
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| Signs of looking sinister administers force
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| and then he takes away her innocence
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| Whispers in her ear that if she doesn’t tell a soul that
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| the rock 'n' roll lies for the taking
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| star in the making who get a front cover
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| if she seeks it
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| what just happened there, she gotta keep it a secret
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| Marie looks blank and then agrees
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| drops to her knees like some sorted appraisal
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| then he forces dust up her nasal orifice
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| proper little horror fest
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| Marie is in a sorry mess
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| Three days later, Marie has got her tits out
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| then her other bits out, labeled with the slut tag
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| This ain’t pay tree, this is top-shelf smack mag
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| as he snaps away
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| he says: «Darling, can you please say…»
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| Ahh ahh aw oh ah ow, ahh ahh aw oh ah ow,
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| ahh ahh aw oh ah ow, ahh ahh aw oh,
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| ahh ahh aw oh…
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| Marie couldn’t have been less
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| other pretty princess
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| acting like a rabbit of her porn
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| the she’d grab it just to pay for her habit
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| that she never ever wanted
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| Packets of tablets, skulkers of her features
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| nothing that her mother could solve
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| or now her teachers
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| Should’ve been alive on the catwalk
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| instead she coming out with skank-talk
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| developed a sad-walk
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| The only time she laughed was is for a triple X movie smile
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| juvenile, money-shot, funny walk
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| happened to her next was bizarre
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| I mean funny as in strange, not Ha-Ha
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| In her bar like a hooker type
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| Marie looked up and saw the Bob Dylan look-alike
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| up she stepped, like a possessed little she-devil
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| far from level-headed, she dreaded the sight of him
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| Followed him home and through the backdoor saw him
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| sleeping in his bed, she set fire to his residence
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| Ahh ahh aw oh ah ow, ahh ahh aw oh ah ow,
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| ahh ahh aw oh ah ow, ahh ahh aw oh,
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| ahh ahh aw oh…
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| The latest fashion, a crime of passion…
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| You like to me loved |