She takes my revolver
And puts it to her temple
She takes no razor to her legs
Nor groin nor upper lip
She wishes to grow up a bit
For i am old
I can see the future
Far but sweet
Don't rush my dear
There's much to see
Go back
And puts it to her temple
She takes no razor to her legs
Nor groin nor upper lip
She wishes to grow up a bit
For i am old
I can see the future
Far but sweet
Don't rush my dear
There's much to see
Go back
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