| She walks the streets of Soho, every single day
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| From dawn 'til dusk, always walks a different way
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| Past every coffee bar, restaurant and pub
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| In her clammy green palm, she’d turn over and rub
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| A few coppers, a nice handful of change
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| But for a fiver she can and will arrange
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| A signed photo, a kiss, a nice warm hug
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| Until over your shoulder, she spots another likely mug
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| She’d be the richest woman, in all of the west end they say
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| If every single penny earned she didn’t spend
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| In the bookies, on the horses, the Wardour Street arcade
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| There’s not a single fruit machine she hasn’t played
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| A toothless smile, laughs like a machine gun
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| But when it comes to business, got all others on the run
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| On anorak wings, that little bird of prey
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| She swoops, she dives, her prize carried away
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| Pam the hawk
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| Oh she’d be the richest woman in all of the west end
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| If every single penny earned she didn’t spend
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| In the bookies, on the gee-gees, the Wardour Street arcade
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| There’s not a single fruit machine she hasn’t played
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| On anorak wings, a little bird of prey
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| She swoops, she dives, her prize carried away
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| Oh, Pam the hawk |