| The Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight,
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| In an upstairs aspidistra’d room that’s lit by candlelight,
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| Where Elizabeth Jones and Lily O’Grady
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| And three or four more married ladies
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| Practice every week unspeakable pagan rites.
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| Dressed in their Sunday coats and their flowerpot hats,
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| Respectable middle-aged ladies — running to fat, at that —
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| There’s Elizabeth Jones and Lily O’Grady
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| And three or four more married ladies,
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| Each with a Woolworth’s broomstick and a tabby cat.
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| But they don’t waste time with a ouija board or a seance now and again, no.
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| And three or four more married ladies
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| Prefer to be tickled by the whiskery chins of bogey men.
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| Their husbands potter at snooker down the club,
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| Unaware of the devilish jiggery-poke and rub-a-dub-dub,
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| While Elizabeth Jones and Lily O’Grady
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| And three or four more married ladies
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| Are frantically dancing naked for Beelzebub.
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| And after the witches' picnic and the devil’s grog,
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| After their savage pantings, their hysterical leap-frog, well,
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| And three or four more married ladies
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| Go back home for cocoa and the Epilogue.
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| So be careful how you go of a Saturday night:
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| If you see a little old lady passing by, it very well might be
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| Or one of those satanical ladies.
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| Their eyes are wild and bright, their cheekbones all alight.
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| Don’t go where they invite,
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| Because the Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight. |