She’s on a level with the lighting She’s flashing red and blue
Her dress it swings like long hair It drapes from hips that move
I’ve been to all the traders For something they don’t sell But after all my labours
I followed my sense of smell
She’s silk and honey combined; I bet your girl doesn’t dance like mine.
You know that she takes classes She’s out three nights a week
I get to watch her practice
With popcorn salted sweet
And that’s a show to make a man blind; I bet your girl doesn’t dance like mine.
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