| Ten years before my time
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| I sang a song to a friend of mine
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| 'bout a girl working for a dime
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| Although I didn’t know that gypsy girl
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| But knew about her kind of thrill
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| Her love’s not cheap but always up for sale
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| Picture this, I was alone
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| But when I sing this song
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| I’m not alone
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| With my gypsy girl
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| Gypsy lady lost her soul
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| She’s so scared of growing old
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| But words don’t age for me to turn to gold
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| Gypsy girl with raven hair
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| Eyes like saucers, with a stare
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| That says she’s the one that never seems to care
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| Picture this, I was alone
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| But when I sing this song
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| I’m not alone
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| With my gypsy girl
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| Gypsy girl plays it fair
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| Throws her hand in the air
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| Saying that she didn’t really care |