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As I was screaming into New Orleans |
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I seen a woman on a motorbike |
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She captivated my imagination |
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With her lipstick in the night |
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Well the look in her eye would make a rhinestone jealous |
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As she leaned into the exit sign |
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In her cajun complexion I could see the reflection |
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Of her lipstick in the night |
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Lipstick in the night |
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Red lipstick make a bulldog bite |
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Lipstick in the night |
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She cut her ignition and she paid her admission |
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To tippatina's jump and jive |
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I offered her a stroke of my Bacardi and coke |
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To wet her lipstick in the night |
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I took a chance and I asked her to dance |
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As the band played with all their might |
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I looked her in the face but I couldn't erase |
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Her lipstick in the night |
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Lipstick in the night |
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Red lipstick make a bulldog bite |
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Lipstick in the night |
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She followed me well down to a cheap hotel |
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There we got into a helluva fight |
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I could hear her leave as she jingled her keys |
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Wearin' lipstick in the night |
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Well I never expect to ever see her again |
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Anyway, she wasn't my type |
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I just over estimated my exaggeration |
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Of her lipstick in the night |