About the sweet bag of a beeA chieftain to the Highlands boundAe fond kiss, and then we severAgincourt, AgincourtAh, my swete swetyngAlas! my love, you do me wrongAllen-a-Dale has no faggot for burningAll in the Downs the fleet was moor'dAll ye woods, and trees, and bowersAnd did you not hear of a jolly young WatermanAn old song made by an aged old pateA parrot from the Spanish mainArm, arm, arm, arm, the scouts are all come inA simple childAs I...
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