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He don't remember, how it got there |
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It had a number, written on his forearm |
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It spelled disaster |
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All hoping, all hoping for dancing |
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He was looking, and looking stunning |
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His clothes reflected light, all right |
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She sat, she sat in the backseat |
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The car was plush but had no heat |
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And no not no one was blushing |
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Their technique was so damn right |
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All right, and! |
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He read the note in the black light |
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He thought he read minds and was not right |
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That line still made him seem charming |
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His clothes were shining, shining |