| Tall and tan and young and lovely
|
| The girl from Ipanema goes walking
|
| And when she passes
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| Each one she passes goes, aaaaaah
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| When she walks, she’s like a samba
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| That swings so cool and sways so gently
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| That when she passes
|
| Each one she passes goes, aaaaaah
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| Ooh, but he watches so sadly
|
| How can he tell her he loves her
|
| Yes, he would give his heart gladly
|
| But each day, when she walks to the sea
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| She looks straight ahead, not at him
|
| Ooh, but he watches so sadly
|
| How can he tell her he loves her
|
| Yes, he would give his heart gladly
|
| But each day, when she walks to the sea
|
| She looks straight ahead, not at him
|
| Tall, and tan, and young, and lovely
|
| The girl from Ipanema goes walking
|
| And when she passes
|
| He smiles, but she doesn’t see
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| She just doesn’t see
|
| No she diesn’t see
|
| But she doesn’t see |