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Dickens |
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You pull the string |
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She's your plaything |
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You can make her or break her, it's true |
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You abuse her, accuse her |
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Turn her round and use her |
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Then forsake her any time it suits you |
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There's more to her than powder and paint |
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Than her peroxided bleached-out hair |
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And if she acts that way |
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It's 'cause you've had your day |
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Don't put her down, you helped put her there |
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She hangs around |
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Playing her clown |
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While her soul is aching inside |
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She's heartbreak's child |
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She just lives for your smile |
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There's more to her than powder and paint |
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Than her peroxided bleached-out hair |
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And if she acts that way |
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It's 'cause you've had your day |
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Don't put her down, you helped put her there |
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At the house down the way |
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You sneak and you pay |
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For her love, her body or her shame |
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Then you call yourself a man |
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And say you just don't understand |
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How a woman could turn out that way |
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There's more to her than powder and paint |
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The men she picks up at the bar |
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And if she acts that way |
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It's 'cause you've had your day |
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Don't put her down, you helped put her there |
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And if she acts that way |
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It's 'cause you've had your day |
|
Don't put her down, you helped put her there |
