| She was far from small, as I recall
|
| And a rather cumly lass
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| All men would say, as she passed their way
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| «what a love piece of aaaaaaaa…»
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| Ask her where she came from, she’d say
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| «My lips are sealed»
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| But a good guess would be Bristol
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| Or possibly Tenfield
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| And in every pub in Snodland
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| They still do speak her name
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| She was a sport — or so I heard
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| And did play many games
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| The soul of men’s discretion
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| She did not mention names
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| She loved to go horse racing
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| And her phone was studied hard
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| But didn’t need a race track
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| To go right through the guard
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| And in every pub in Snodland
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| They still do speak her name
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| One day I did go off with her
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| And played in the hay
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| She promised me most anything
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| Just to have me stay
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| She whispered «Come here, darling
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| Come lover, please draw near
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| You’re going where no man has been»
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| I said «What? |
| In your ear ?!»
|
| And in every pub in Snodland
|
| They still do speak her name
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| We knew not where she came from
|
| But since the day she went
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| We all do sadly miss her
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| In our little heart of Kent
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| In every pub in Snodland
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| They still do sing this song
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| «Vagina was her name
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| Virgin for short»
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| But we all knew — not for long !
|
| And in every pub in Snodland
|
| They still do speak her name
|
| And in every pub in Snodland
|
| They still do speak her name |