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(Hofstede)Only rich men can buyThings the poor man can makeYou've got nothingAnd they've got plentyLike a tree falling downHits a grape on the groundThey will crush the poor man's headIn booksYou can sit beside everyoneIn deckchairs travel an oceanIn booksYou're a queen for the afternoonTill the husband steps insideTons of inkMake millions thinkTons of inkMake you thinkIs it you love is this true loveIs it you I'm thinking of loveIs it your lip it's a tulipIs it you I'm thinking ofTons of inkMake millions thinkTons of inkMake you thinkOnly poor men can readAll the papers they needIn the dustbins of the town
(Hofstede)Only rich men can buyThings the poor man can makeYou've got nothingAnd they've got plentyLike a tree falling downHits a grape on the groundThey will crush the poor man's headIn booksYou can sit beside everyoneIn deckchairs travel an oceanIn booksYou're a queen for the afternoonTill the husband steps insideTons of inkMake millions thinkTons of inkMake you thinkIs it you love is this true loveIs it you I'm thinking of loveIs it your lip it's a tulipIs it you I'm thinking ofTons of inkMake millions thinkTons of inkMake you thinkOnly poor men can readAll the papers they needIn the dustbins of the town