| Last year’s troubles are so old fashioned
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| The robber on the highway, the pirate on the seas
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| Maybe it’s the clothing that’s so entertaining
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| The earrings and swashbuckling blouses that please
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| Here we have heroes of times that have passed now
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| But nobody these days has that kind of chin
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| Over there the petticoats of ladies of virtue
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| You can hardly tell them from the petticoats of sin
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Look at all the waifs of Dickensian England
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| Why is it their suffering is more picturesque?
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| Must be 'cause their rags are so very Victorian
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| The ones here at home just don’t give it their best
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| Last years troubles they shine up so prettily
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| They gleam with a luster they don’t have today
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| 'Cause here it’s just dirty and violent and troubling
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| Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Trouble is still trouble and evil is still evil
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| Sometimes we wonder; |
| is there more now, or less?
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| But if we had a tool or could tally the handfuls
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| Measure for measure it’s the same would be my guess
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Last year’s troubles
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| Last year’s troubles |