| Back in the day you had been part of the smart set
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| You’d holidayed with kings, dined out with starlets
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| From London to New York, Cap Ferrat to Capri
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| In perfume by Chanel and clothes by Givenchy
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| You sipped camparis with David and Peter
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| At Noel’s parties by Lake Geneva
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| Scaling the dizzy heights of high society
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| Armed only with a cheque book and a family tree
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| You chased the sun around the Cote d’Azur
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| Until the light of youth became obscured
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| And left you on your own and in the shade
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| An English lady of a certain age
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| And if a nice young man would buy you a drink
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| You’d say with a conspiratorial wink
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| «You wouldn’t think that I was seventy»
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| And he’d say, «No, you couldn’t be»
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| You had to marry someone very very rich
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| So that you might be kept in the style to which
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| You had all of your life been accustomed to
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| But that the socialists had taxed away from you
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| You gave him children, a girl and a boy
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| To keep your sanity a nanny was employed
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| And when the time came they were sent away
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| Well that was simply what you did in those days
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| You chased the sun around the Cote d’Azur
|
| Until the light of youth became obscured
|
| And left you on your own and in the shade
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| An English lady of a certain age
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| And if a nice young man would buy you a drink
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| You’d say with a conspiratorial wink
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| «You wouldn’t think that I was sixty three»
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| And he’d say, «No, you couldn’t be»
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| Your son’s in stocks and bonds and lives back in Surrey
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| Flies down once in a while and leaves in a hurry
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| Your daughter never finished her finishing school
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| Married a strange young man of whom you don’t approve
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| Your husband’s hollow heart gave out one Christmas Day
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| He left the villa to his mistress in Marseilles
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| And so you come here to escape your little flat
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| Hoping someone will fill your glass and let you chat about how
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| You chased the sun around the Cote d’Azur
|
| Until the light of youth became obscured
|
| And left you all alone and in the shade
|
| An English lady of a certain age
|
| And if a nice young man would buy you a drink
|
| You’d say with a conspiratorial wink
|
| «You wouldn’t think that I was fifty three»
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| And he’d say, «No, you couldn’t be» |