| She ain’t real friendly for no good reason
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| Claims her life’s been filled with treason
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| Says she’s cursed by a toothless gypsy
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| Wonderin' why her life’s so greasy
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| With doulbe blades she dulls her senses
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| Spiteful girl by all consensus
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| All her life it’s been the same
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| Hell she don’t even like her name
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| She longs to be the ingenue
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| To leading men tall dark and handsome
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| But now the play has passed her by… oh my
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| There’s no exit
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| Oh no there’s no way out at all
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| There’s no exit
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| Jumped a train in Italy
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| On her way to gay Paris
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| Down in the Loire Valley
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| She got sho drunk she couldn’t see
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| Stumblin' through a metro station
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| In a mood for conversation
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| Fortune teller read her palm
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| Told her that her time was gone
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| She longs to be the ingenue
|
| To leading men tall dark and handsome
|
| But now the play has passed her by… oh my
|
| There’s no exit
|
| Oh no there’s no way out at all
|
| There’s no exit
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| She used to model as a child
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| With Bardot’s looks and Gigi’s laughter
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| Enfant terrible creation
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| Of a sockless adman’s mind
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| Played her first recital at the tender age of nine
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| Strains of Clare de Lune
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| Mater sipping wine
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| Pater in the garden gazing
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| At those ponies grazing
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| The spoils of a lonely child
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| She longs to be the ingenue
|
| To leading men tall dark and handsome
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| Once just a jet-trash kid
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| Down at Les Halles
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| Her frequent trips to Nice
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| In Monaco she was always welcome
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| She was embraced by all society
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| Along the way she lost her charms
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| Now the play has passed her by |