| My body is a map of L.A
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| I stand straight like an angel, with a halo
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| Hangin' out the Hilton Hotel window
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| Screamin', "Heyo, baby, let's go"
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| My chest, the Sierra Madre
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| My hips, every high and byway
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| That you trace with your fingertips like a Toyota
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| Run your hands over me like a Land Rover
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| In Arcadia, Arcadia
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| All roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries
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| That pump the blood that flows straight to the heart of me
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| America, America
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| I can't sleep at home tonight, send me a Hilton Hotel
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| Or a cross on the hill, I'm a lost little girl
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| Findin' my way to ya
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| Arcadia
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| My body is a map of L.A
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| And my heart is like paper, I hate ya
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| I'm not from the land of the palms, so I know I can’t stay here
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| I'm not native, but
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| My curves, San Gabriel all day
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| And my lips like the fire licks the bay
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| If you think that you know yourself, you can come over
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| Lay your hands on me like you're a Land Rover
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| In Arcadia, Arcadia
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| All roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries
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| That get the blood flowing straight to the heart of me
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| America, I need a miracle
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| I can't sleep at home tonight, send me a Hilton Hotel
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| Or a cross on the hill, I'm a lost little girl
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| Findin' my way to ya
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| Arcadia
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| They built me up three hundred feet tall just to tear me down
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| So I'm leavin' with nothing but laughter, and this town
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| Arcadia
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| Findin' my way to ya
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| I'm leavin' them as I was, five foot eight
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| Western bound, plus the hate that they gave
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| By the way, thanks for that, on the way, I'll pray for ya
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| But you’ll need a miracle
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| America |