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Porterage down |
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The dark gross chapel |
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He stepped streets around now |
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Sales person mobile |
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Porterage down |
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Dark gross chapel |
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He stepped streets around now |
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Was introduced by a woman loose-limbed, slim |
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One woke up to a whitewashed ugly wall - whoosh! |
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Made worse by dirty postcards |
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Trapped in their town |
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They're embracing criminals in panicky hall |
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No temper for fall group |
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I'll put you down |
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Porterage down |
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To the dark gross chapel |
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He stepped streets around now |
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Sales-person, mobile |
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I'll put you down |
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To the gross chapel |
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You were right said peter |
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Dying for a smoke |
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But you shouldn't have said to the police |
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Jobs i do are little things |
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Like the chemist coming on insulted |
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They were as fed up as i was |
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Waiting outside after putting blame on you |
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Porterage down |
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Ask him! i am ailing |
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Porterage down |
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Then let us fill a bumper, |
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And drink a health to those |
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Who carry caps and pouches, |
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And wear the louped clothes. |
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May they and their commanders |
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Live happy all their years |
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Whene'er we are commanded |
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To storm the palisades |
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Our leaders march with fusees, |
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And we with hand grenades. |
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We throw them from the glacis, |
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About the enemies' ears. |
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Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, |
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For the british grenadiers. |
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I'll put you down |