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It Never Rains in Southern California |
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Rebecca |
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Get you, brushing your hair with the wind |
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Riding your bike up on Mulholland Drive |
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Oh, I got a five-minute rush from you in your faded blue jeans |
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How many years is it you've been alive? |
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Oh, I'll take a guess, Rebecca, could it be eighteen, nineteen or so? |
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Ooh, Rebecca, will I ever know? |
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No way, where would I fit in your life? |
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What would you do with a man without change |
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Too strange and too poor to be trusted, rusted a couple of times |
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Shaken a bit by the years on the road |
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And the women I've known? Rebecca, you'd have liked the name I gave to you |
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Ooh, Rebecca, if you only knew |
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Go home |
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To your father's friends |
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Straight sons |
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To your mother's friends |
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Sweet ones |
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to those families |
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Well-to-do and so well-established |
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And one day you might wake up to a shock, girl |
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What has it come to this sensible life |
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The wife of a fool? Rebecca, reading magazines in a chic salon |
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Ooh, Rebecca. Where's Rebecca gone? |