| There is a light in the forest
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| There is a face in the tree
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| I’ll pull you out of the chorus
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| And the first one’s always free
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| You can never go a-hunting
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| With just a flintlock and a hound
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| You won’t go home with a bunting
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| If you blow a hundred rounds
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| It takes much more than wild courage
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| Or you’ll hit the tattered clouds
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| You must have just the right bullets
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| And the first one’s always free
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| You must be careful in the forest
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| Broken glass and rusty nails
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| If you’re to bring back something for us
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| I have bullets for sale
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| Why be a fool when you can chase away
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| Your blind and your gloom
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| I have blessed each one of these bullets
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| And they shine just like a spoon
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| To have sixty silver wishes
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| Is a small price to pay
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| They’ll be your private little fishes
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| And they’ll never swim away
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| I just want you to be happy
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| That’s my only little wish
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| I’ll fix your wagon and your musket
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| And the spoon will have its dish
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| And I shudder at the thought of your
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| Poor empty hunter’s pouch
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| So I’ll keep the wind from your barrel
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| And bless the roof of your house |