| Harlot, you weave your stolen yarns with bitter, borrowed tongues
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| As it knots up, you sit and wonder, «Am I knitting this or am I just
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| tongue-tied?»
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| She sees the tangled strands and understands she’s wrong
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| But there’s something, something stopping her from shutting her fucking mouth
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| You turned an artificial ego into housing for a heart officially condemned
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| But who’d blame you?
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| You’re not the first and you’re sure not the only one
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| But you may have missed it
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| And you’re not some winsome misfit
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| Speaking up for all of womankind
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| She’s satisfied to be a lady and a tramp
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| But there’s something she just doesn’t understand
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| Oh, god, the things she says!
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| She wants to be a lady and a tramp
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| But she’d never show the lady to the band
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| Harlot, you misinterpret every quip at every turn
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| It’s impressive, exchanging strength for a thick shield of ignorance
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| But you may have missed it
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| And you’re not some winsome misfit
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| Speaking up for all of womankind
|
| She’s satisfied to be a lady and a tramp
|
| But there’s something she just doesn’t understand
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| Oh, god, the things she says!
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| She wants to be a lady and a tramp
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| But she’d never show the lady to the band
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| She’s got her flaws
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| She’s something else
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| I know it’s all my fault and I should look the other way
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| But you’re the trainwreck, baby
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| And I’m watching you burn!
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| She’s satisfied to be a lady and a tramp
|
| But there’s something she just doesn’t understand
|
| Oh, god, the things she says!
|
| She wants to be a lady and a tramp
|
| But she’d never show the lady to the band
|
| She’d never show the lady to the band |