| I walked the streets as well I could
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| I really tried my best
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| In conversation, character
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| Especially the way I dressed
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| But it’s hard, you see, as younger man
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| To actually convince
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| Folks just clearly saw a queen
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| Pretending to be a prince
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| But prince takes into battleground
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| A tribal sword and scar
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| Queen remains behind the scenes
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| And hidden crown in bra
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| So come on, girls, unleash your curls
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| Don’t be feeling sad
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| Get the feeling swinging from your hipbones
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| To your bag
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| We’re better than the legs and skirt
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| Your boyfriends wants to shag
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| I’m sticking on my high heels
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| Some lippy from my bag
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| I’ve had enough of compromise
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| I’m going back to drag…
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| Those trips on London Underground
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| Those bloody dangerous nights
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| The days of rouge and subterfuge
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| Of ladders in our tights
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| Our make-up ran much faster than
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| Their prejudice and hate
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| Take us up the escalator
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| And vaulting over gate
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| And boy, they really wanted me
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| And boy, I really ran
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| And boy, that was the only time
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| This girl outran a man
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| Here’s to the hers who used to be him
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| Here’s to the Joans who used to be Jim
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| Who learned how to dive before they could swim
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| To the lambs who went out on a limb
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| Wear pull-ups, wear suspenders
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| Wear dresses mum would lend us
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| Where boarding schools you send us
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| We’re going back to drag
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| The straight ones treated you as a freak
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| The freak, like someone’s dad
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| I’ve had enough of walking straight
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| I’m staggering back to drag |