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Skinny Lister
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Forty Pound Wedding
Well, as I walked down the metal road, With all but forty pounds, Only the bells around my waist, The cut-throats to confound. No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me, No vagabond likewise, And I bet my hide I'll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes.
Well, the first I met was a tinker, With gold rings to sell. Each one cost a tenner, But some looked twice as well. And I said, 'That's lucky for me,' And parted with some cash To take a golden wedding band To my deserving lass.
Well, as I walked down the metal road, With all but thirty pounds, Only the bells around my waist, The cut-throats to confound. No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me, No vagabond likewise, And I bet my hide I'll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes.
Well, the next I met was a gypsy, She had a yard of Honiton lace, Eyes as brown as berries, With an honest, open face. And I said 'That's lucky for me,' And parted with some cash, To take a beautiful wedding veil To my deserving lass.
Well, as I walked down the metal road, With all but twenty pounds, Only the bells around my waist, The cut-throats to confound. No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me, No vagabond likewise, And I bet my hide I'll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes.
Well, the next I met was an urchin, 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网 He had orchids by the score. Blues and reds and yellows, To make the sun feel sore. And I said 'That's lucky for me,' And parted with some cash, To take a rare wedding bouquet To my deserving lass.
Well, as I walked down the metal road, With all but ten pounds, Only the bells around my waist, The cut-throats to confound. No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me, No vagabond likewise, And I bet my hide I'll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes.
Well, the last I met was a farmer, He had a Magnum of champagne, He wanted fifteen guineas, But I clinched it just the same. And I said, 'That's lucky for me! Now we can raise a glass, And drink a sparkling wedding toast To my deserving lass!'
Well, as Father Reed's an ignorant man, You can hear him loudly call, 'It's a curtain ring on her finger, And her veil's a gypsy's shawl, And what a fine bunch of wayside weeds, Fresh-picked from down the lane, And a wedding cup of cider sets us on the road again.'
Well, as I walked down the metal road, With never a weary pound, Only the bells around my waist, The cut-throats to confound. No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me, No vagabond likewise, And I kept my hide and I won my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes.
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