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Pretty girl, wreckin' bar Ra, ra, ra, ra, here you are Blowing up 'bout twice a night Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, here I am The Angel's Game, F. Scott Fitzgerald The evening news and the Morning Herald I know they're not from very far But les femmes là-bas, c'est pas de joie Where you been? You can't say? Hey, hey, hey, hey, yeah, you may That might seem a bit below No, no, no, no, it's funny though Let's go home, I think we oughta I know you're your mother's daughter Well brought up and royal blue And I haven't got the time for you Finger pointing, presupposing Watch out, man, the doors are closing This is what you get when you turn your back A clear blue sky turning dirty black