| Once upon a midnight dreary
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| While i pondered weak and weary
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| From a long trip on the erie
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| Comes a rapping on my chamber door
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| It’s an ectoplasmic tapping
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| That disturbs my nightly napping
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| Like a shroud that’s gently flapping
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| Emanating from the second floor
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| Buddies are we, me and the ghost upstairs
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| Sipping our tea, me and the ghost upstairs
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| But he’s inclined to moan when left alone
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| So i think of things that’ll tickle his funny bone
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| Lonely old ghost upstairs
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| Regular folks, dropping our worldly cares
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| Swapping our jokes, me and the ghost upstairs
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| And then she slaps his shroud and laughs out loud
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| And says «oh boy, that’ll paralyze all the crowd!»
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| Jolly old ghost upstairs
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| He’s quite a cook
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| He serves a beautiful drink
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| He wrote a book
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| And in invisible ink
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| I took a look
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| And the title upon the page
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| Was «the groups of wraith»
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| Once in a while he brings a a gang of friends
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| Does it in style, careless of what he spends
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| And though the place is small we have a ball
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| Cause you know those spooks don’t require no room at all
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| We have some mighty fine affairs me and the ghost upstairs
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| We have some mighty fine affairs me and the ghost upstairs |