| Oh Vera my sweet
|
| I would offer you some meat
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| In exchange for a good loaf of wax
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| I would smear it on you
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| And on all your apples too
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| If I thought it would help you relax
|
| But the bones in the ground
|
| Well they never make a sound
|
| And the bones in the ground are all fine
|
| And the bones in the air
|
| Well they haven’t got a care
|
| And the bones in the air are all mine
|
| Oh shiny Maureen
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| Won’t you tell me where you’ve been
|
| And I’ll work out where you should be now
|
| In a cluster of apes
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| That do rub themselves with grapes
|
| You’ll be tied to the back of a cow
|
| But the bones in the ground
|
| Well they never make a sound
|
| And the bones in the ground are all fine
|
| And the bones in the wind
|
| Lord have mercy how they grinned
|
| And the bones in the wind are all mine
|
| Oh Paula-Lorraine
|
| Won’t you comment on my sprain
|
| And I’ll shave you in some cozy church
|
| I don’t care what you’re called
|
| I just want to shave you bald
|
| And I’ll know that I’ve finished my search
|
| But the bones in the ground
|
| Well they never make a sound
|
| And the bones in the ground are all fine
|
| And the bones in the air
|
| Well they sing a rattling air
|
| And the bones in the air are all mine |