Come all you young fellows
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That carry a gun
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I’ll have you come home
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By the light of the sun
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For Jimmy was hunting
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And hunting alone
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When he shot his true love
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In the room of a swan
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Polly went out in a shower of hail
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She crept to the bushes
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Herself to conceal
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With her apron pulled o'er her
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He took her for a swan
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He aimed, he fired
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And killed his Polly Vaughn
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Then home rushed young Jimmy
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His dog, and his gun
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Crying, "Uncle, dear Uncle
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Oh, what have I done?
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Oh, cursed be the gunsmith
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That made my old gun
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For I shot my true love
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In the room of a swan!"
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Then out rushed bold uncle
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His locks hanging grey
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Crying, "Jimmy dear Jimmy
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Don’t you run away
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Don’t leave the county
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Till your trials come on
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For they never would hang you
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For shooting a swan."
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The funeral of Polly, it was a brave sight
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Four and twenty young men
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All dressed in white
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They brought her to the graveyard
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Laid her in the grave
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All said, "Goodbye Polly!"
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And went weeping away
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In six weeks time
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The trial was on
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And Polly appeared
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In the room of a swan
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Crying, "Judge, oh Jury
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Let Jimmy go clear
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For he never should hang
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For shooting his dear!
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My apron was bound around me
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And he took me for a swan
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And my poor heart lay a'bleeding
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All on the wet, green ground |