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I'm a porter and a night clerk at the old hot rod hotel |
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I clean and scrub the lobby down and thirty one rooms as well |
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I wax and shine their boots and shoes |
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I brush down their crinkeldy clothes |
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And I meet the buses and the trains and show you to your door |
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Bell bottom pants brought two boys in at six fourteen last night |
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Two girls checked in at ten otwo and I flipped on their light |
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The lamrods wife looks in their doors and finds one terrible sight |
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Those boys and girls got bawled up in their doors and rooms last night |
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A bloody flood could never messed these rooms up any worse |
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It looked like moe had used this room to grease and breed a horse |
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Old gum and hairs and sticky rags old bottles on the floors |
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Gobs of spit and condom rubbers on the windows walls and doors |
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The lammy tried to make me clean up the crappy mess |
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Or else hed fire me off my job and let me starve to death |
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I laid aside my polish rag and downed my dusting pan |
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And I've not seen the old hot rod nor that old town since then |