| In a cavern, in a canyon
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| Excavating for a mine
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| Lived a miner forty-niner
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| And his daughter, Clementine
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| Oh, my darlin', oh my darlin'
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| Oh my darlin', Clementine!
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| You were lost and gone forever
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| Dreadful sorry, Clementine!
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| Light she was and like a fairy
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| And her shoes were number nine
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| Herring boxes without topses
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| Sandals were for clementine
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| Drove she ducklings to the water
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| Every morning, just at nine
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| Hit her foot against a splinter
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| Fell into the foaming brine
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| Ruby lips above the water
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| Blowing bubbles, soft and fine
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| But alas, I was no swimmer
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| So I lost my Clementine
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| When the miner, forty-niner
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| Soon began to peak and pine
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| Thought he oughta join his daughter
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| Now he’s with his Clementine
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| In the corner, of the churchyard
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| Where the myrtle bows and twines
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| Grow the roses in their poses
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| Fertilized by Clementine
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| In my dreams she still doth haunt me
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| Robed in garments soaked in brine
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| Though in life I used to hug her
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| Now she’s dead, I’ll draw the line
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| How I miss her, how I miss her
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| How I miss my Clementine!
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| So I kiss her little sister…
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| And forgot my Clementine |