| Well, you’ve got your diamonds and you’ve got your pretty clothes
|
| And the chauffeur drives your car
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| You let everybody know
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| But don’t play with me, 'cause you’re playing with fire
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| Your mother she’s a heiress, owns a block in Saint John’s Wood
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| And your father’d be there with her
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| If he only could
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| But don’t play with me, 'cause you’re playing with fire
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| Your old man took her diamonds and tiaras by the score
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| Now she gets her kicks in Stepney
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| Not in Knightsbridge anymore
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| So don’t play with me, 'cause you’re playing with fire
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| Now you’ve got some diamonds and you will have some others
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| But you’d better watch your step, girl
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| Or start living with your mother
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| So don’t play with me, 'cause you’re playing with fire
|
| So don’t play with me, 'cause you’re playing with fire |