| She left her school for the factory
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| From pocket money to a salary
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| From a pac-a-mac to a compact case
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| And every morning she inspects her face
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| She discovers pulling pints in pubs
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| That the good looks will never cover up for
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| Her dumbness in taking the stock
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| Sees her reflection in a butcher’s shop
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| She finds it all quite rare
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| That her meat’s all vanity fair
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| She has her eyes on medallion men
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| Who get her home on the dot at ten
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| She combs her hair when she gets excused
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| The deal she wants always ends up screwed
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| Paints her nails on the bathroom scales
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| Gargles her breath like a landed whale
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| Her beauty is as deep as her skin
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| Keeps her eyebrows in a tobacco tin
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| She poses foot on the chair
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| Coconut shy but vanity fair
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| In her vanity case her compact case
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| In her compact case her eyes
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| Not bad for a sister
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| But her vanity’s fair and her sense of humour’s dry
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| She comes home late with another screw loose
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| She swears to have had just a pineapple juice
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| Falls asleep fully clothed in her bed
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| With her makeup remover by her head
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| And she might not be all there
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| But her dream’s all vanity fair |