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My story is much too sad to be told, |
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But practically everything |
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Leaves me totally cold. |
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The only 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 enui |
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And I suddenly turn and see, |
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Your fabulous face. |
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I get no kick from Champagne |
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Mere alchohol 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 |
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Out of you |
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Some get a kick from cocain |
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I'm sure that if I took even one sniff |
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That would bore me terrificly 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 you standing there before me |
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I get a kick though its clear to me you obviously don't |
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Adore me |
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I get no kick in a plane |
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Flying too high |
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With some guy in the sky is my idea of nothing to do |
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Yet I get a kick |
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Out of you |