| In fair Nottamun town, not a soul would look up
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| Not a soul would look up, not a soul would look down
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| Not a soul would look up, not a soul would look down
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| To show me the way to fair Nottamun town
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| I rode a gray horse, a mule roany mare
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| Gray mane and gray tail, a green stripe down her back
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| Gray mane and gray tail, a green stripe down her back
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| There wasn’t a hair on her be-what was coal black
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| She stood so still, she threw me to the dirt
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| She tore -a my hide and she bruised my shirt
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| From saddle to stirrup I mounted again
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| And on my ten toes I rode over the plain
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| Met the king and the queen and a company more
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| A-riding behind and a-marching before
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| Came a stark-naked drummer, a-beating a drum
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| With his heels in his bosom come marching along
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| They laughed and they smiled, not a soul did look gay
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| They talked all the while, not a word they did say
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| I bought me a quart to drive gladness away
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| And to stifle the dust for it rained the whole day
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| Sat down on a hard, hot cold frozen stone
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| Ten thousand stood round me and yet I’s alone
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| Took my hat in my hand for to keep my head warm
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| Ten thousand got drowned that never was born |