| I was talking to a swaggy yesterday
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| Oh his beard was long his hair was silver grey
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| His dress was out of style
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| But he wore a friendly smile
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| And here is what the old man had to say
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| You may think me most unusual my boy
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| When I tell you straight that I am stoney broke
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| I tramp from year to year
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| And I’ll drink all kinds of beer
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| But I must have good terbaccy when I smoke
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| Now I tell you this here old tobaccy tin
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| And the paint is gone the sides are dented in
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| And it’s opened many a bottle
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| In it’s wild and chequered life
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| And to me it has always been a friend
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| I one time had wife and everything
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| But a strange came and soon we were apart
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| So I left my friends and home
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| And I hit the road to roam
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| But nicotine has mended my old heart
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| Now when finally they reach the golden gate
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| They say Saint Peter he’s a decent bloke
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| If I’m taken with the blessed
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| This will be my last request
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| Oh I liked to have good baccy when I smoke
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| Yes I was talking to that swaggy yesterday
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| And what he told me I’ll remember clear
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| Tramping out there with the breeze
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| Happy as the birds and bees
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| And I reckon that he has the right idea |