| In the town of Old Milwaukee, back in 1982
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| He celebrated forty years of making that famous brew
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| The master of the taster’s art, Milwaukee’s number one
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| And he could fairly feel the flavor as it swished across his tongue
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| Overtime and weekends, old Clancy never shirked
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| They said it was amazing how much Clancy loved his work
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| But one scorching afternoon as he made his final round
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| He fell into the sixty-thousand gallon vat and drowned
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| Oh, the day that Clancy drowned
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| He could have called for help, but Lord, he never made a sound
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| We all tried to rescue him but we didn’t have no luck
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| 'Cause he’d dive to the bottom and we couldn’t pull him up
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| It was a solemn occasion as his buddies gathered 'round
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| They had to make arrangements for to put him in the ground
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| When they took the dear departed over to the funeral place
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| Took 'em half an hour to get that big smile off his face
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| Brother Daniels preached the funeral and he had some words to say
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| About the life of Brother Clancy, oh yes, and how he passed away
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| «Could it not have been avoided», said he, «that he met this tragic end?»
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| «Well, preacher, he got up three times to go to the bathroom
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| But he always jumped back in»
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| Oh, the day that Clancy drowned
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| He was blowing pearly bubbles and a-swimming all around
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| A-gurgling and a-giggling and a-wearing that silly grin
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| Oh, but he fought us like a flounder when we tried to haul him in
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| Oh, the day that Clancy drowned
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| He was blowing pearly bubbles and a-swimming all around
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| A-giggling and a-gurgling and a-wearing that silly grin
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| But he fought us like a flounder when we tried to haul him in
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| Oh, the day that Clancy drowned |