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My story is much too sad to be told, |
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But practically everything leaves me totally cold. |
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The exception I know is the case |
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When I'm out on a quiet spree, |
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Fighting vainly the old ennui, |
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And I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face. |
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I get no kick from champagne. |
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Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. |
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So tell me why should it be true |
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That I get a kick out of you? |
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Some, they may go for cocaine. |
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I'm sure that if I took even one sniff |
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It would bore me terrifically, too. |
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Yet I get a kick out of you. |
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I get a kick every time I see |
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You standing there before me. |
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I get a kick though it's clear to see |
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You obviously do not adore me. |
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I get no kick in a plane. |
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Flying too high with some gal in the sky |
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Is my idea of nothing to do. |
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Yet I get a kick - um you give me a boot - I get a kick out of you. |