| Voice 1: «What happened to your shine?»
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| Voice 2: «I used to have a shine, huh.»
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| Voice 1: «And what happened to it?»
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| Voice 2: «Well, what kind of shine was it?»
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| Beneath you drips my type
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| I’ll keep tabs on her wardrobe especially
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| if the negligent negligee slips ever so gently
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| off the slip of her ass
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| A letter picked, jaundiced and paved
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| your cheap spurs are only swelling with age
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| I won’t get Tourettes if you don’t get Tourettes
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| I won’t get Tourettes if you don’t get to rest
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| Voice 1: «So what happened to your shine?»
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| Voice 2: «I guess it disappeared… uh, thanks to you.»
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| Voice 1: «Why me?»
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| Voice 2: «I don’t know, 'cause you’re the one that only mentions it.»
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| I haven’t heard a groan like that
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| since jailbait bars came blessed with rugs
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| I’ll wrap this lightpost round your devoted staff
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| I haven’t heard a groan like that
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| since jailbait bars came blessed with rugs
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| came their sighs of twisting cables
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| To have deflected their charms
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| I am unable to be listed in your regards
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| if you hurry home I might prevent those scars
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| A stretch of nothingness on stationary mangled when
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| the sleepy wheels rolled 6am so early in the morning |