| Dooley was a good ol' man
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| He lived below the mill
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| Dooley had two daughters
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| And a forty-gallon still
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| One gal watched the boilers
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| The other watched the spout
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| And momma corked the bottles
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| When ol' Dooley fetched 'em out
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| Dooley, slipping up the holler
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| Dooley, trying to make a dollar
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| Dooley, give me a swaller
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| I’ll pay you back some day
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| Well the revenuers came for him
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| Slipping through the woods
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| Dooley kept behind 'em all
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| He never lost his goods
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| Dooley was a trader
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| When into town he’d come
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| Sugar by the bushel
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| And molasses by the tub
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| Dooley, slipping up the holler
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| Dooley, trying to make a dollar
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| Dooley, give me a swaller
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| I’ll pay you back some day
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| I remember very well
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| The day ol' Dooley died
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| The women folk looked sorry
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| The men stood around and cried
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| Now Dooley’s on the mountain
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| He lies there all alone
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| They put a jug beside him
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| And a barrel for a stone
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| Dooley, slipping up the holler
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| Dooley, trying to make a dollar
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| Dooley, give me a swaller
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| I’ll pay you back some day
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| I’ll pay you back some day |