| There were three drunken maidens, lived on the Isle of Wight
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| They drank from Monday morning, didn’t stop till Saturday night
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| When Saturday night came round, my boys, the girlies wouldn’t go out
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| These three drunken maidens kept pushing the jug about
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| Then in comes bouncing Sally with a face as red as a bloom
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| «Move up, my jolly sisters, and give your Sally some room
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| For I’ll be your equal before the night is out»
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| So now four drunken maidens they pushed the jug about
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| There was woodcock and pheasant, partridge and hare
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| And every kind of pie, my boys, no scarcity was there
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| They’d forty quarts of beer all told, they fairly drunk it up
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| These four drunken maidens who pushed the jug about
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| Then in comes the landlord and he’s looking for his pay
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| «I've a bill for forty nicker that you lot have got to pay»
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| They hadn’t got the money and still they wouldn’t go out
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| These four drunken maidens kept pushing the jug about
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| Now where are your feathered hats, your mantles crisp and fine?
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| «They've all been swallowed up, my boys, in tankards of good wine»
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| And where are your maidenheads, you maids so brisk and gay?
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| «We left them in the public house, we drank them clean away» |