| There’s a colour TV in the pink shack
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| But the paint’s peelin' off the walls
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| Take a sneaky photo by the pink shack
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| In a pair of muddy overalls
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| Pay a ragged dollar for my snapshot mister
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| Put a big grin on my face
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| Call «Hey, Sonny!» |
| from your door, Chiquita
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| If the colour isn’t to your taste
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| She’s callin' out to me
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| Now she’s bawlin' out to me
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| And she’s singin' right out of key
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| «Oh, lover man where can you be?»
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| Lost little orphans on the roadside
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| On the steps of the Roach Motel
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| Little faces flicker in the go-go neon
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| Seems they’ve got something to sell
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| Take my photograph for a dollar mister
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| Up against the pink shack wall
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| Call «Hey, Sonny!» |
| from your door Chiquita
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| Throw tequila kisses to us all
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| She’s callin' out to me
|
| And it’s only half past three
|
| She’s callin' out to me
|
| «Lover man where can you be?»
|
| She’s callin' out to me
|
| Now she’s bawlin' out to me
|
| And she’s singin' right out of key
|
| «Oh, lover man where can you be?»
|
| There’s room enough for two in the pink shack
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| With a black rat on my knee
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| Backroom tequila in the bathroom
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| And a soapbox colour TV
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| Cockroaches crawlin' round the pink shack
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| But please don’t crawl on me
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| Five in a bed in the pink shack
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| But there’s really only room for three
|
| She’s callin' out to me
|
| And it’s only half past three
|
| And she’s singin' right out of key
|
| «Oh, lover man where can you be?»
|
| She’s calling out to me
|
| And she’s bawling out to me
|
| And she’s singing right out of key
|
| «Oh, lover man where can you be»
|
| «Oh, lover man where can you be» |