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She washed her hands 300 times |
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But still they're dripping red. |
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We caught her in the pauper's pit, |
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She stole the prince's head... |
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Cursing 'blasphemy'... |
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O mercy me... |
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He staggered like a chicken. |
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They lynched him; |
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They left him flinching. |
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Running scared... |
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Took their seats...they kept on knitting. |
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God bless the noble savage |
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As he swaggers |
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As he sweats |
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He's making bets on who is next- |
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He don't care about the colour... |
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So many here to choose from... |
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(First they rounded up the reds |
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But I'm not red so... |
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Then they rounded up the blacks |
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But I'm not black so... |
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Then they rounded up the gypsies |
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And the junkies and donkeys. |
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Now I'm scared to whistle 'swanee' |
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'Cause they'll ask me for my spit...) |
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It's the garden that we walk in |
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And it's dying...so we cut it down. |
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We're drowning now. |
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There's no way out. |
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We all fall down. |