| It’s like Saint Valentine’s Day
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| at the sugar candy store
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| where the barman lays
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| on the bloodstained floor
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| with all the wines
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| and the cocktails
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| he won’t be serving anymore
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| to the swingers
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| and the roustabouts
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| and the carnivore queen
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| who’s looking for the 3 scrooges
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| who are nowhere to be seen
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| and life’s just a bowl of cherries
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| for the fruit machine
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| THE TAKING OF PECKHAM
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| Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest
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| they robbed him blind,
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| then dumb.
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| and then deaf
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| and they left him there bleeding
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| on the pavement to die
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| and he went to that
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| great high-rise block in the sky
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| And the hands that do the dishes
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| feel as soft as your face
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| then they rob you of your pension
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| and they ransack your place
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| still, you try to forgive
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| like the baby Jesus did
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| though it’s so hard to be a saint
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| in the flats where you live
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| And you’ll live there forever
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| and the day that you die
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| when you’ll go to that
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| great high-rise block in the sky
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| and you’ll meet the baby Jesus
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| so you ll know you’re in Heaven
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| and you’ll get back the years
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| that you gave
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| in the taking of Peckham |