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Robert W Service - Old TomRobert W Service - Old Tom
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The harridan who holds the inn      At which I toss a pot, Is old and uglier than sin,—      I`m glad she knows me not. Indeed, for me it`s hard to think,      Although my pow`s like snow, She was the lass so fresh and pink      I courted long ago.       I wronged her, yet it`s sadly true      She wanted to be wronged: They mostly do, although `tis you,      The male bloke who is thonged. Well, anyway I left her then      To sail across the sea, And no doubt she had other men,      And soon lost sight of me. So now she is a paunchy dame      And mistress of the inn, With temper tart and tounge to blame,      Moustache and triple chin. And though I have no proper home      Contentedly I purr, And from my whiskers wipe the foam,      —Glad I did not wed her. Yet it`s so funny sitting here      To stare into her face; And as I raise my mug of beer      I dream of our disgrace. And so I come and come each day      To more and more enjoy The joke—that fifty years away      I was her honey boy.
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