| My mother used to sing to me
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| A haunting little melody
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| Nobody knows where it came from
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| Or where it was composed
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| «Utt da zay», sings the tailor
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| As he fashions pretty clothes
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| «Utt da zay», sings the tailor
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| As he sews, sews, sews
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| He’s as busy as a bee
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| Making lovely finery
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| Things my baby loves to wear
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| When I take her to the fair
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| «Utt da zay», sings the tailor
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| All it means is, «That's the way»
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| When I buy the things he made her
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| Says the tailor, «Utt da zay»
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| Oh, do you dig, dig, dig?
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| Do you chop, chop, chop?
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| Are you hep to this jive
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| That I’m laying to you? |