| I’m a maker of ballads right pretty
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| I write them right here in the street
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| You can buy them all over the city
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| Yours for a penny a sheet
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| I’m a word pecker out of the printers
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| I’ll write up a scene on a counter
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| — confessions and sins in the main, boys
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| Confessions and sins in the main
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| Then you’ll find me in Madame Geneva’s
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| Keeping the demons at bay
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| There’s nothing like gin for drowning them in But they’ll always be back on a hanging day
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| They come rattling over the cobbles
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| They sit on their coffins of black
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| Some are struck dumb, some gabble
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| Top-heavy on brandy or sack
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| The pews are all full of fine fellows
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| And the hawker has set up her shop
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| As they’re turning them off at the gallows
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| She’ll be selling right under the drop, boys
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| Selling right under the drop
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| Then you’ll find me in Madame Geneva’s
|
| Keeping the demons at bay
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| There’s nothing like gin for drowning them in But they’ll always be back on a hanging day |