| Don’t come waltzing back to my door
|
| I cannot give any more
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| You country cousins, squabble and fight
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| And gamble your way through the night
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| The money’s all gone, it’s time to move on
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| Leave all the debts, those letters and threats, oh
|
| The island awaits the quarryman’s whim
|
| Who dillies and dallies within
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| The favoured fearful take some offence
|
| And speak of those summers well spent
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| If the rumours are true, the daytrips are through
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| Leave with the rest, who could not care less, oh
|
| The rumours are true, the daytrips are through
|
| Leave with the rest, who could not care less, oh |