| I used to dream that I would discover
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| The perfect lover
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| Someday
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| I knew I’d recognize him if ever
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| He came 'round my way
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| I always used to fancy then
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| He’d be one of the godlike kind of men
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| With a giant brain and a noble head
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| Like the heroes bold in the books I’ve read
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| But along came Bill
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| Who’s not the type at all
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| You’d meet him on the street
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| And never notice him
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| His form and face
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| His manly grace
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| Are not the kind that you
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| Would find in a statue
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| And I can’t explain
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| It’s surely not his brain
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| That makes me thrill
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| I love him because he’s wonderful
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| Because he’s just my Bill
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| He can’t play golf or tennis or polo
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| Or sing a solo
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| Or row
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| He isn’t half as handsome
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| As dozens of men that I know
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| He isn’t tall or straight or slim
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| And he dresses far worse than Ted or Jim
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| And I can’t explain why he should be
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| Just the one, one man in the world for me
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| He’s just my Bill an ordinary man
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| He hasn’t got a thing that I can brag about
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| And yet to be
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| Upon his knee
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| So comfy and roomy
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| Seems natural to me
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| Oh, I can’t explain
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| It’s surely not his brain
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| That makes me thrill
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| I love him because he’s, I don’t know
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| Because he’s just my Bill |