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Freckles was his name |
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He always used to get the blame |
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For every broken window pane |
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And how they'd yank him |
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They'd always spank him |
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In school, he'd tease the girls |
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He always used to pull their curls |
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The way that boy would carry on |
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It was a shame |
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And when the teacher found a tack on her chair |
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Though a hundred children were there |
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Everybody said, "Freckles" |
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He always got the blame |
|
Freckles was his name |
|
He always used to get the blame |
|
For every broken window pane |
|
In school, he'd tease the girls |
|
He always used to pull their curls |
|
The way that boy would carry on |
|
It was a shame |
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And when the cat had kittens up in the hay |
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One was black and seven were gray |
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Everybody said, "Freckles" |
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He always got the blame |
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And though his marks were lower |
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Then the kids much slower |
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His marks were perfect |
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With the old bean blower |
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Freckles was his name |
|
He always used to get the blame |
|
For every broken window pane |
|
In school, he'd tease the girls |
|
He always used to pull their curls |
|
The way that boy would carry on |
|
It was a shame |