| Oh, Sister Josephine
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| What do all these policemen mean
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| By coming to the convent in a grim limousine
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| After Sister Josephine?
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| While you, Sister Josephine
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| You sit with your boots up on the altar screen
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| You smoke one last cigar
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| What a funny nun you are!
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| The policemen say that Josephine’s a burglar in disguise
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| Big bad Norman — fifteen years on the run
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| The sisters disbelieve it: No, that can’t be Josephine;
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| Just think about her tenderness towards the younger nuns
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| Oh, Sister Josephine
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| They’re searching the chapel where you’ve been seen
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| The nooks and the crannies of the nun’s canteen
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| After Sister Josephine
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| While you, Sister Josephine
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| You sip one farewell Benedictine
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| Before your au revoir
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| A right funny nun you are!
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| Admittedly her hands are big and hairy
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| And embellished with a curious tattoo
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| Admittedly her voice is on the deep side
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| And she seems to shave more often than the other sisters do
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| Oh, Sister Josephine
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| Founder of the convent pontoon team
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| They’re looking through your bundles of rare magazines
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| After Sister Josephine
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| While you, Sister Josephine
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| You give a goodbye sniff of benzedrine
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| To the convent budgerigar
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| A bloody funny nun you are!
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| No longer will her snores ring through the chapel during prayers
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| Nor her lustful moanings fill the stilly night
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| No more empty bottles of altar wine come clunking from her cell
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| No longer will the cloister toilet seat stand upright
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| Oh, Sister Josephine
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| Slipping through their fingers like Vaseline
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| Leaving them to clutch your empty crinoline
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| After Sister Josephine
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| While you, Sister Josephine
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| Sprinting through the suburbs when last seen
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| Dressed only in your wimple and your rosary
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| A right funny nun you seem to be! |