| In Norway, there sits a maid
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| By lou, my baby, she begins
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| Little know I my child’s father
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| Or if land or sea he’s livin' in
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| Then there arose at her bed feet
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| And a grumbly guest
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| I’m sure it was he
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| Saying here am I thy child’s father
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| Although that I am not comely
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| I am a man upon the land
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| I am a selchie in the sea
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| And when I am in my own country
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| My dwellin' is in Shule Skerry
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| And he hath taken a purse of gold
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| He hath put it upon her knee
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| Saying give to me my little wee son
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| And take thee up thy nurse’s fee
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| And it shall come to pass
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| On a summer day
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| When the sun shines hot
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| On every stone
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| That I shall take my little wee son
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| And I’ll teach him for to swim in the foam
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| And you will marry a gunner good
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| And a proud good gunner I’m sure he’ll bev And he’ll go out on a May morning
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| And he’ll kill both my wee son and me
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| And lo, she did marry a gunner good
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| And a proud good gunner I’m sure it was he
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| And the very first shot that ere he did shoot
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| He killed the son and the great selchie |