| Drinking black market vodka in the back of the Scottsman’s saloon
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| Then it’s red meat and whiskey like a coyote drunk on the moon
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| Outside in Oslo the buskers' all sing the same tune
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| And it’s Waltzin' Matilda while the bagpipes play old Clare de Lune
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| She was a lady, she came down from Bergen she said
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| She spoke little English, they laughed and drank whiskey instead
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| In the mornin' he found it… a rose with a note on his plate
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| It said, «meet me at midnight on the corner of St. Olav’s gate»
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| Here’s to the ladies you love and don’t see again
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| The night is warm whiskey… the mornin’s a cold bitter wind
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| The blue eyed madonna leaves town while the drunken man waits
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| Leaves him standing alone in the shadows of St. Olav’s gate |