| Me and my wife live all alone
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| In a little log hut we’re all our own;
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| She loves gin and I love rum
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| And don’t we have a lot of fun!
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| Ha, ha, ha, you and me
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| Little brown jug, don’t I love thee!
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| Ha, ha, ha, you and me
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| Little brown jug, don’t I love thee!
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| When I go toiling on the farm
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| I take the little jug under my arm;
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| Place it under a shady tree
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| Little brown jug, 'tis you and me. |
| '
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| 'Tis you that makes me friends and foes
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| 'Tis you that makes me wear old clothes;
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| But, seeing you’re so near my nose
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| Tip her up and down she goes
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| If all the folks in Adam’s race
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| Were gathered together in one place
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| Then I’d prepare to she’d a tear (I'd let them go without a tear)
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| Before I’d part from you, my dear
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| If I’d a cow that gave such milk
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| I’d dress her in the finest silk;
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| Feed her up on oats and hay
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| And milk her twenty times a day
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| I bought a cow from Farmer Jones
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| And she was nothing but skin and bones;
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| I fed her up as fine as silk
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| She jumped the fence and strained her milk
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| And when I die don’t bury me at all
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| Just pickle my bones in alcohol;
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| I’ut a bottle o' booze at my head and feet
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| And then I know that I will keep
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| The rose is red, my nose is too
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| The violets blue and so are you;
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| And yet, I guess, before I stop
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| We’d better take another drop |