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334 Ballads and Songs of Michigan
Says she, "Young man, as you made
your bed, So in it you must lie."
6 O in those lonesome cells I sobbed; Twas no more than I deserved, But it makes my very blood run cold To think how I've been served.
7 Come all young men, a warning take; Never touch a flowing bowl;
'Twill drag you down to hell's dark hole And ruin your poor soul. |
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