| Fancylad, fancylad
|
| How did you blow your inheritance, fancylad?
|
| Sing me your parents' embarrassment, fancylad
|
| Sing to me your pink-flowering thorn
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| You never asked to be born
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| Your woes, they shine like tiny gemstones
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| What an exquisite collection, such an exquisite collection
|
| Shall I tell you whether they’re real or not
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| Before I cut them to perfection?
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| The better to bedeck you
|
| What an exquisite collection
|
| Fancylad, fancylad
|
| How did you blow your inheritance, fancylad?
|
| Sing me your parents' embarrassment, fancylad
|
| Sing to me your pink-flowering thorn
|
| You never asked to be born
|
| Your wound, wherever did you find it?
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| Wet-petalled like a vagina
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| Shall I straighten this crooked boutonniere?
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| It shouldn’t be pinned onto your coat
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| Plant it deep in your heart’s hole
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| Wherever did you find it?
|
| Fancylad, fancylad
|
| How shall I write your biography, fancylad?
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| Five hundred diary pages about your dad
|
| Sing to me your pink-flowering thorn
|
| You never asked to be born
|
| You never asked to be born
|
| You’ll live, you’ll live, you’ll live
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| All cried out like a girl but you’ll live
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| Mama’s little mixed-up man
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| You’ll live, you’ll live, you’ll live
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| All cried out like a girl but you’ll live
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| Mama’s little mixed-up man |