| At Gateshead in a tanner’s yard
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| Three young men were jawing hard
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| A poor old horse they’d fixed to kill
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| Befell the task to dexterous Bill
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| Poor old horse
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| Poor old horse
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| Hear what they did to the poor old horse
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| His palms around the hilt of the axe
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| Delivered such a horrible blow
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| The horse emerged a strangled cry
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| He glanced it just above the eye
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| And now to put it out of pain
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| Our Billy took another aim
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| The horse forsook the man he cursed
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| For the second blow was much like the first
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| He kept up thumping on its head
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| And then he worked the body instead
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| The air grew cloudy with breath so hot
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| Of man and beast a-mingling
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| «I'll try no more» conceded Bill
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| So up stepped Ned to test his skill
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| He wacked the poor thing on his nose
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| He sprained his wrist and bloodied his clothes
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| The foreman came then with his knife
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| Determined for to take its life
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| He took his aim and thrust it home
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| Alas he hit the collarbone
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| They broke its leg with a rusty spade
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| Then all upon it heavily laid
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| To quell the struggle each did their part
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| Until the blade had reached its heart
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| Now each he goes his separate path
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| For a cup full of ale or a nice hot bath
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| A kiss on the lips of a wife newly wed
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| Or a look at the baby sleeping in bed |