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Chris Difford
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My Mother's Handbag
I used to love the smell Of my mother's handbag I wondered what was there inside I once tried to sneak my hand in To see what I could find A packet of mints A picture of me A small leather purse And a front door key
I used to love the taste Of my mother's dinners Her Sunday roast was great Silence fell upon the family As the spuds fill our china plate A piece of pie A pot of cream Doing the dishes Our plates so clean
And I used to play beneath the table While all her friends would pray I was destined for the life of Riley Not for the tears of Johnny Ray
I was always on my own Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Secretly playing my make out games Pushing my cars along the street Playing with the firework flames And Paul was young And just like me We sailed our boats Way out to sea
And I used to play beneath the table While all her friends would pray I was destined for the life of Riley Not for the tears of Johnny Ray
What a good boy I had become Tied to my mother's apron strings A simple life Became highly strung On a sofa with popped out springs Here today The lark ascends Me and my life Of imaginary friends
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