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Perhaps if I were Samuel Coleridge I might have read books at Cambridge Where the Classics they've yet to abridge. |
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As it is I'll just take from the fridge Some mushy Irish oatmeal porridge The kind that sticks to my teethridge And makes me speak like Calvin Coolidge. |
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And spend my Sundays shooting at a midge With a shotgun pellet cartridge From a perch on a bridge In a pleasant town called Bainbridge. |
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And climb across the nearest ridge Balancing precariously on a footbridge To carry to you a wild partridge That you might lower your drawbridge Just a teeny, tiny smidge. |