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There were three drunken maidens, lived on the Isle of Wight |
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They drank from Monday morning, didn't stop till Saturday night |
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When Saturday night came round, my boys, the girlies wouldn't go out |
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These three drunken maidens kept pushing the jug about |
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Then in comes bouncing Sally with a face as red as a bloom |
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"Move up, my jolly sisters, and give your Sally some room |
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For I'll be your equal before the night is out" |
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So now four drunken maidens they pushed the jug about |
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There was woodcock and pheasant, partridge and hare |
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And every kind of pie, my boys, no scarcity was there |
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They'd forty quarts of beer all told, they fairly drunk it up |
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These four drunken maidens who pushed the jug about |
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Then in comes the landlord and he's looking for his pay |
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"I've a bill for forty nicker that you lot have got to pay" |
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They hadn't got the money and still they wouldn't go out |
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These four drunken maidens kept pushing the jug about |
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Now where are your feathered hats, your mantles crisp and fine? |
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"They've all been swallowed up, my boys, in tankards of good wine" |
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And where are your maidenheads, you maids so brisk and gay? |
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"We left them in the public house, we drank them clean away" |