| Bella donna’s on the high street
|
| Her breasts upon the off beat
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| And the stalls are just the side shows
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| Victoriana’s old clothes
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| And yes, her jeans are tight now
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| She got to travel light now
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| She got to turn up all her roots now
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| She got to turn up for the boots now
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| She thinks she’s tough
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| She ain’t no English rose
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| Ah, but the blind singer
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| He’s seen enough and he knows
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| Yes, and he do a song about a long-gone Irish girl
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| Ah, but I got one for you, Portobello Belle
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| She sees a man upon his back there
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| Escaping from a sack there
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| And bella donna lingers
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| Her gloves ain’t got no fingers
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| Yeah, the blind man sing in Irish
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| He get his money in a tin dish
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| Just a corner serenader
|
| Upon a time he could have made her, made her
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| She thinks she’s tough
|
| She ain’t no English rose
|
| Ah, but the blind singer
|
| He’s seen enough and he knows
|
| Yes, and he do a song about a long-gone Irish girl
|
| Ah, but I got one for you, Portobello Belle
|
| Yes, and the barrow boys are hawking
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| And the parakeet’s squawking
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| Upon a truck there is a rhino
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| She get the crying of a wino
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| And then she hear the reggae rumble
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| Bella donna’s in the jungle
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| But she is no garden flower
|
| There is no distress in the tower
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| Bella donna walks
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| Bella donna taking a stroll
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| She don’t care about your window box or your buttonhole
|
| Yes, and she sing a song about a long-gone Irish girl
|
| Ah, but I got one for you, Portobello Belle |