| When I was a little whippersnapper of a boy just 19 years of age
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| And I happened to stain the sheets on the bed or I happened to misbehave
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| The stains were lovingly washed away in a tub of soapy water
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| By the ladies I protected from a world of horrible slaughter
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| Then when at last I came of age and had to make my way
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| I set up shop with a dozen girls, so popular was I
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| I marched them up to the top of the town and there I had them loiter
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| There are many worse ways to earn your pay
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| In a world of horrible slaughter
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| But whenever a piece of ultraviolent thuggery is done
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| And the world looks on with heart in mouth, speechless and stunned
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| Remember that every offender is his own mother’s son
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| Here is the song that I have always sung:
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| Give me mass in the morning, the booky’s at noon
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| The brothel all night long
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| But I’ll always be true to the ladies, the ladies understand
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| I’m their favourite
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| They love me, I treat them like shit
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| One of my girls did a runner one day with a lad from the orchestra
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| Who scraped a living on a violin and stayed at home with Ma
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| I ground his instrument into the ground
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| And Tracy, when I caught her, that time got off lightly
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| In this world of horrible slaughter
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| Now I’ve got a little whippersnapper of my own
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| Just at the difficult age
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| And if he happens to slash a girl to test
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| His army penknife blade
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| The blood is lovingly washed away in a tub of soapy water
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| By the girls he may protect one day from a world of horrible slaughter
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| Give me mass in the morning, the booky’s at noon
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| The brothel all night long
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| But I’ll always be true to the ladies
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| I’m their favourite
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| They love me
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| I treat them like shit |