| Powder your nose, pull off your pantyhose
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| Let me love you from behind, my darling
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| Powder your nose, pull on your pantyhose
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| We’re going down to my bout, my darling
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| Before the bell would ring, he had a way like Errol Flynn
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| As he sauntered to the ring with a sheet on
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| But the late rounds scared the girl
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| Heaven knows she thought the world of Lou
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| It was hard to see him swaying in the neon
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| Joey was a no-one, just some big dumb kid from Flushing
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| He had a face like an ugly boy, always pouting
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| He hit Louie kind of low, and he stumbles on th ropes
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| As the bookies blockd the rows, shouting
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| Powder your nose, pull off your pantyhose
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| Let me love you from behind, my darling
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| And powder your nose, pull on your pantyhose
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| We’re going down to my bout, my darling
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| The blows were hard and loud, he could hardly hear the crowd
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| In the bleachers where they howled, they were cheering
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| I remember in the eighth, it was clear that Lou was fading
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| When something caught his eye by the ceiling
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| He saw her as she spoke through the shifty yellow smoke
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| She said, «Louie, you look bad, are you dying?»
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| But Louie could not answer, his eyes were cast up to the rafters
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| And then they slowly sealed in silence |