| Do you make the most of your five senses,
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| Or is your life like Old Mother Hubbard’s shelf?
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| Well, mark this on your slate,
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| Life is not an empty plate.
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| That’s if you appreciate yourself.
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| Ev’ry time you’re near a rose,
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| Aren’t you glad you’ve got a nose?
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| And if the dawn is fresh with dew,
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| Aren’t you glad you’re you?
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| When a meadowlark appears,
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| Aren’t you glad you’ve got two ears?
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| And if your heart is singing, too,
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| Aren’t you glad you’re you?
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| You can see a summer sky,
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| Or touch a friendly hand,
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| Or taste an apple pie.
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| Pardon the grammar, but ain’t life grand?
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| And when you wake up each morn,
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| Aren’t you glad that you were born?
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| Think what you’ve got the whole day through,
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| Aren’t you glad you’re you? |