As I walked into the charity store
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I saw a second-hand shirt hangin' up by the door
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The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff
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Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff
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It wasn't made of polyester or nylon
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The label said "Made in the UK" so I tried it on
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And I looked in the mirror and declared
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"I like this shirt, I want it"
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It's not the label on the shirt that you wear
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It's the way that you wear it
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They say it's style and breeding and culture that counts
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But you can't change good taste on the expense account
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And if design or fashion makes you a hero
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You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero
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But I declare "It's not the shirt you wear
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It's the way that you wear it"
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I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care
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I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair
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Wild expectations, arrogant air
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Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there
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I walked over with all my savoir fair
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And she said "You're a smart looking dude
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But your character's ugly, it clashes with my shoes
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And I, I can't stand your attitude"
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I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude
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I thought my conquest was made
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But I was stunned by the magnitude
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Of her ingratitude
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I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe
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Like the shirt I was wearing
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This romantic affair was not destined to last
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The harder I tried, the louder she laughed
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I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare
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She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk
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I was humbled, humiliated, castrated
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My masculinity dragged through the dirt
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Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions
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The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love
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I was strutting around with my chest stuck out
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Like a peacock preparing to get laid
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Thought I looked cool but she put me down
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She said "You look like a clown on a circus parade"
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Still the shirt has class, it looks well made
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She was a babe of the first degree
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She was totally fantabulous
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Like a goddess from Greece and yet
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The epitome of the 20th century femininity
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She was in her own league
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She was meant for me, it was destiny
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Like Adam and Eve, synchronisity
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She brought out the testosterone in me
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Last time I saw that babe she was smiling contentedly
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Now I'm trapped on this murder rap, a mistaken identity
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It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me
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Now this cop says "It's up to you, death row or solitude
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Crime of passion, you should plead 'insane'
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You say you wouldn't lie, but we've just blown your alibi
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We've found your shirt and it's got a blood stain"
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It was the shirt you were wearing
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It was the shirt you were wearing
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-----------------
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The Shirt
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The Kinks |