| My back’s in pain
|
| I’m paid in vain
|
| Like 8.50 an hour
|
| Standing at the counter
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| Giving straight girls my advice on life
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| I’m reminded of the power
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| The power, the power, the power
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| And I’m selling cheap a portion
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| Of my dignity because boredom
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| Well it drives my mind
|
| To the weakest kind
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| Of a coyness built for the boardroom
|
| I had dreams when I was 16
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| Yeah, my best friend was Morrissey
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| Our politics, they never alligned
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| A harsh breath on my warm mind
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| You woke each and every last fight
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| Carried me away in your limelight
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| Hands behind my head
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| Earnest even when dead
|
| An ego I believed in
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| But your words confirmed a legacy
|
| Inside the drunkest side of me
|
| Sober I was over
|
| Everything that confronted me
|
| I disappeared then I woke up
|
| In an England painted perfectly
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| In greys and blacks and blues and golds
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| Of a sense of humour from my story told
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| A blanket of romance
|
| Was all I had to feel romantic
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| So I’ll stand and pick this fruit
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| And swallow juice
|
| Because it’s truth
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| And I’m forever charming, forever ill
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| I’ll pamper nothing
|
| Even when these wheels
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| They drive, drive, drive
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| They drive me through these hills
|
| (That's the power)
|
| They drive, drive, drive
|
| That’s the power (Yeah)
|
| That’s my power |