| Mrs. Molly Jenkins sells her wares in town
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| Saturdays, in the evening, when the farmhands come around
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| And she sows all their names in her gown
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| Ah, but is she happy?
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| no no no
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| She wants a better home and a better kind of life
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| But how is she going to get the things she wants,
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| the things she needs as some poor wretch of a farmer’s wife
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| He trades the milk for booze
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| And Molly wants new shoes
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| And as she snuggles down
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| With a stranger in some back of the barroom bed
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| It’s much too dark to the see the stranger
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| So she thinks of shoes instead
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| Old Man Horace Jenkins stays at home to tend to his schemes
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| Sends for pictures of black stockings on paper legs with paper seams and he
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| drinks
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| until he drowns in his dreams
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| Ah, but is he happy?
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| No, no, no
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| He wants to be reborn to lead the pious life
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| But how’s he going to going shed his boozy dreams when he has to bear the cross
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| of
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| a wicked wife
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| She claims to visit shows
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| And he pretends that’s where she goes
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| And as he snuggles down to his reading in a half-filled marriage bed
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| He’s so ashamed of what he’s reading that he gets blind-drunk instead
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| Sunday breakfast with the Jenkins
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| They break the bread and cannot speak
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| She reads the rustling of his paper
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| He reads the way her new shoes squeak
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| And pray God to survive one more week
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| Ah, but are they happy?
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| You’d be surprised… between the bed and the booze and the shoes
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| They suffer least who suffer what they choose |