Last night or the night before that,
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I won't say which night
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A seaman friend of mine,
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I'll not say which seaman,
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Walked up to a big old building,
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I won't say which building,
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And would have not walked up the stairs,
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not to say which stairs,
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If there had not been two girls,
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leaving out the names of those two girls.
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I recall a door, a big long room,
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I'll not tell which room,
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I remember a deep blue rug,
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But I can't say which rug,
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A girl took down a book of poems,
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not to say which book of poems,
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And as she read, I lay my head,
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and I can't tell which head,
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Down in her lap, and I can mention which lap
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My seaman buddy and girl moved off
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after a couple of pages and there I was,
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All night long, laying and listening
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and forgetting the poems.
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And as well as I could recall
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or my seaman buddy could recollect,
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My girl had told us that she was a niece,
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of Walt Whitman, but not which niece,
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And it takes a night and a girl
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and a book of this kind
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A long long time to find its way back
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Walt Whitman's Niece
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Billy Bragg |