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She likes it hotShe likes a tanShe steals my infra
red when I'm goneOh no can it beWe're heading for a
heatwaveHer legs are brownA trace of rustShe's in love
with a mkii deluxeOh no can it be we're heading for
a heatwaveHer hair is bleached like it's been boiledShe
browns herself in a sea of olive oilAnd I come around
and she's relaxingIn the conservatory
