| A flower, according to Mr. Billy Strayhorn
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| Now defunct, is a lovesome thing
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| I would have wondered, yes, I wonder
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| If it really brings you all the joy
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| And happiness it’s supposed to bring
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| People say to me, they say «I've got the key
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| Yes, I’ve got the key to happiness and prosperity»
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| You got love, you got love
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| Everybody got love
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| You got love, everybody
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| You need real good vibrations
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| You need real good vibrations
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| You need real good vibrations
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| You need real good vibrations
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| And then you love everybody
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| Better than you do yourself
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| «That's the point of the exercise», they say
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| I would have wondered what would happen
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| If we made ourselves up a whole gang of flowers
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| Out of spring steel and razor blades
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| An' painted them all over in pretty colours
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| Perfume them with all the sweet scents of Arabia
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| Then, if anybody interfered with us
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| We could give them a real mark of our affection
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| You can’t love, you can’t love everybody
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| You can’t love, you can’t love everybody
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| 'Cause they ain’t all the same people
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| I said, they ain’t all the same people
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| Oh, they ain’t all the same people
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| They ain’t all the same people
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| And I love me, baby, better than you do yourself
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| Well, think about it |