| There was a time, now very far away
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| When we set up together, I and she
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| I got the brain, and she supplied the breast
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| I saw her right, and she looked after me
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| A way of life then, if not quite the best
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| And when a client came, I’d slide out of our bed
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| And treat him nice, and go and have a drink instead
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| And when he paid up, I’d address him, «Sir
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| Come any night you feel you fancy her»
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| That time’s long past, but what would I not give
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| To see that whorehouse where we used to live?
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| That was the time, now very far away
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| He was so sweet and bashed me where it hurt
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| And when the cash ran out, the feathers really flew
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| He’d up and say, «I'm going to pawn your skirt
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| A skirt is nicer, but no skirt will do.»
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| Just like his cheek, he had me fairly stewing
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| I’d ask him straight to say what he thought he was doing
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| Then he’d lash out and knock me headlong down the stairs
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| I had the bruises off and on for years
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| That time’s long past, but what would I not give
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| To see that whorehouse where we used to live?
|
| That was the time, now very far away
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| Not that the bloody times seem to have looked up
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| When afternoons were all I had for you
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| I told you she was generally booked up
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| The night’s more normal, yeah, but daytime will do
|
| And when a client came, he’d slide out of our bed
|
| And treat him nice, and go and have a drink instead
|
| And when he paid up I’d address him, «Sir
|
| Come any night you feel you fancy her»
|
| That time’s long past, but what would we not give
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| To see that whorehouse where we used to live? |