| All the pretty boys you call
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| Won’t keep you warm at all
|
| When winter hits the fall
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| Hair doth not a lover make
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| Your gentle lashes shake
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| Your dainty ankles quake
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| But oh, I’ll be around
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| When all this fucking fashion brings you down
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| To pick your pretty heart right off the ground.
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| When they take you on the town
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| With their designer crowns
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| They’ll only bring you down
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| And all their cash can buy you from my arms
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| Let’s play heart triumphs over charms
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| Let’s send these spoiled brats to face the feds and gendarme.
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| Oh, I’ll be around
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| When all this name dropping brings you down
|
| To pick your pretty heart right off the ground.
|
| Oh, I’ll be around
|
| When all this fucking fashion brings you down
|
| To pick your pretty heart right off the ground. |