| Now I met me a girl and her name was Frutch
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| And she liked dirt and me very much
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| She said if she’d met me during the war
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| And she found me hiding underneath the door
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| Even if she was German and I was Dutch
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| She wouldn’t shoot me She was a fine girl, Frutch
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| Shot me last Tuesday
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| Now I met me a girl and her name was Scrot
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| She kept a notebook with many a jot
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| About how to turn a banknote into a cat
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| And many such things just as useful as that
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| But I told her she wouldn’t dig it if she turned
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| into a piece of gunshot
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| She didn’t listen
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| She was a fine girl, Scrot
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| I got her right here in my shoulder now
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| thanks to Frutch
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| Now I met me a girl and her name was Blit
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| And she bought a do-it-yourself submarine kit
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| She tried it in the bath and it went down the plug
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| And she was inside it, she was making it chug
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| When she found there wasn’t no place at all for
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| her to sit
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| She didn’t worry none
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| She was a fine girl, Blit
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| She was still standing when she passed Norroway
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| for the fourth time
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| Now I met me a girl and her name was Twing
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| She looked like a yoyo without a string
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| She rolled up and down like a solid hoop
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| Right round the block and right through the soup
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| And right through the stew and the chicken stuffing
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| She was a fine girl, Twing
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| She was a good cook as cooks go… she went!
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| Now I met me a girl and her name was Plof
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| She had a car with a nasty cough
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| She fed it with aspirins and vitamin pills
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| Lotions and potions for to cure all ills
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| 'Til you couldn’t see the car for three miles of froth
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| Big Claimsville
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| She was a fine girl, Plof
|
| Car don’t cough no more
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| Just sits in the garage all day long
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| And screams for the doctor
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| Hypochondriac! |