| Taking nothing but his daddy’s old bone-grip knife
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| He traded but a little for the wayward life
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| A faint heart never won fair hand
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| So says the Rose of England
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| From a-high on a hill came the clarion call
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| To game young men, come one, come all
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| Make muster 'gainst the foreign hand
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| That’s raised to the Rose of England
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| For her feckless boy she did weep and wail
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| Saying, Lord have mercy where did I fail?
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| Out my belly, then pick up a gun
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| And fall for the Rose of England
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| God knows it’s a cold outside
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| It’s a fry by day and a froze by night
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| I know it’s a hell out there
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| How loud the mouth when the heart don’t care
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| He’s damned if he don’t, and damned if he do
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| He’d die if he ever found out we knew
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| Hot potato, drop it and run
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| Far from the Rose of England |