| On a fine evening fair in the month of april
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| Over the hill came the sun with a smile
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| And the folks they were throngin' the roads everywhere
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| Makin' haste to be in at the Copshawholme Fair
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| I’ve seen 'em a-comin' from mountains and glens
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| Those rosy-faced lasses and strappin' young men
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| With a joy in their heart and unburdened o' care
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| A-meetin' old friends at the Copshawholme Fair
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| Whoever joined our gathering
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| And danced under the garlands green
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| Will never be the same again
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| Now rest your head and stay a while
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| And dwell with us the summer’s night
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| And you’ll never be the same again
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| There are lads for the lasses, there’s toys for the bairns
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| Jugglers and tumblers and folks with no arms
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| There’s a ballad-singer here and a fiddler there
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| Nut-men and spice-men at Copshawholme Fair
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| There are peddlers and potters and gingerbread stands
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| Peepshows and popping-darts and green caravans
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| There’s fruit from all nations exhibited there
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| With kale plants from Orange at Copshawholme Fair
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| Whoever joined our gathering
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| And danced under the garlands green
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| Will never be the same again
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| Now rest your head and stay a while
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| And dwell with us the summer’s night
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| And you’ll never be the same again
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| You came a long way, you traveled for so long
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| Now rest your head before the summer’s gone
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| Meet us in the sunny fields and meet us in the greenwood deep
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| And step in our faerie ring 'cause you’ll never ever ever be the same again
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| When the hiring is over, off they all sprang
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| Into the ballroom for to join in the throng
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| And «I Never Will Lie With My Mammy Nae Mair»
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| The fiddles play briskly at Copshawholme Fair |