| The reason I didn’t care to tell you before is 'cause
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| You didn’t have a fella of your own. |
| Hmm hmm…
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| But now that you got one, I can tell you about mine!
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| I’m glad you gotta fella, Carrie!
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| His name is Mister Snow,
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| And an upstandin' man is he.
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| He comes home ev’ry night in his round-bottomed boat,
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| With a net full of herring from the sea.
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| An almost perfect beau,
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| As refined as a girl could wish.
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| But he spends so much time in his round-bottomed boat
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| That he can’t seem to lose the smell of fish.
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| The fust time he kissed me, the whiff from his clo’es
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| Knocked me flat on the floor of the room;
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| But now that I love him, my heart’s in my nose,
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| And fish is my fav’rite perfume.
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| Last night he spoke quite low,
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| And a fair-spoken man is he,
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| And he said, «Miss Pipperidge, I’d like it fine
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| If I could be wed with a wife.
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| And, indeed, Miss Pipperidge, if you’ll be mine,
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| I’ll be yours fer the rest of my life.» |