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American Ballads and Folk Songs
But the ocean ain't whisky
And I ain't a duck, So we'll round up the cattle
And then we'll get drunk.
My foot's in my stirrup, My bridle's in my hand,
I'm leaving sweet Lillie, The fairest in the land.
Her parents don't like me, They say I'm too poorj
They say I'm unworthy To enter her door.
Sweet milk when I'm hungry, Rye whisky when I'm dry,
If a tree don't fall on me, I'll live till I die.
I'll buy my own whisky, I'll make my own stewj
If I get drunk, madam, It's nothing to you.
I'll drink my own whisky, I'll drink my own wine}
Some ten thousand bottles I've killed in my time.
I've no wife to quarrel
No babies to bawl; The best way of living
Is no wife at all.