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The world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew (Which is another word for soup) that drips for me and you. |
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"Little Benjy! Little Benjy!" chirps the robin in the tree; "Little Benjy!" sighs the clover, "Little Benjy!" moans the bee; "Little Benjy! Little Benjy!" murmurs John C. New, A-stroking down the whiskers which the winds have whistled through. |
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Looks jest like his grampa, who's dead these many years— He wears the hat his grampa wore, pulled down below his ears; We'd like to have him four years more, but if he cannot stay— Nothin' to say, good people; nothin' at all to say! |
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There, little Ben, don't cry! They have busted your boom, I know; And the second term For which you squirm Has gone where good niggers go! But Blaine is safe, and the goose hangs high— There, little Ben, don't cry! |
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Mabbe we'll git even for this unexpected shock, When the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock! |