| Lovely Mary, sweetie
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| That famous window smasher
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| Was just a quiet gloom of yodel-eh-hi-hi
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| From across Wisconsin
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| She took a pitch of cocaine
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| But only for her nerves
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| Was known for trembling hands
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| A little bottle in her purse
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| She was a woodpecker
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| She couldn’t help but free
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| All the things that had inside
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| All the pretty trees
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| At dusk she took the train
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| Just a hammer in her bag
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| She went from town to town, yodel-eh-hi-hi
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| Smashing every plain of glass
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| Store fronts mirrors, windshields
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| Shattered in the night
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| Her hammer through a window’s gleam
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| Filled the air with light
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| She was a woodpecker
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| She couldn’t help but free
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| All the things that had inside
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| All the pretty trees
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| She was a woodpecker
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| She couldn’t help but free
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| All the things that had inside
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| All the pretty trees
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| In a state asylum
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| The windows caged in bars
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| The soaked her in a nice cold bath
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| Til she was seeing stars
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| Wrapped up in her straitjacket
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| Her mind still hammered on
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| Until the glasses that are smashed, yodel-eh-hi-hi
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| And she flew off into the trees
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| She was a woodpecker
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| She couldn’t help but free
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| All the things that had inside
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| All the pretty trees |