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Ranch and Range |
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A COARSE LACK OF APPRECIATION
I'm the sweetest sort o' singer, but 'most
ev'ry time I sing, Some ig'rant man's remarkin', "Who choked
that calf—poor thing;" An' then the boys all leave me an' sadly drift
away, When I sets up a-pealin' this here charmin' roundelay: Oh, Susan, you're my trewest friend, I will not hold your hand, I will not tell you of my love, You would not understand— You would not understa-a-a— You would not understa-a-a-a-and.
I hates to see my friends all leave an' "excuse
me" never say. Shows 'preciation's lackin' of the fine arts
that-o-way; Fer when I sings serprano I cannot help it
grieve, To see each son-of-a-gun get up an' leave— so ca'mly leave. Oh, Susan, you're my trewest friend, I will not hold your hand, I will not tell you of my love, You would not understand— You would not understa-a-a— You would not understa-a-a-a—and. |
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