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My Dear Mary Anne

Oh, faretheewell my dear Mary Anne
Our days have all gone by
Spring is coming and soon I'll be gone
But I'll come back, don't you cry my dear Mary Anne.

Oh don't you see the pretty turtle dove
That flies from pine to pine
Crying for its own true love
The way I cry for you my dear Mary Anne.

A lobster dies in the boiling pot
Oh pity the bluefish, too
But they're quickly gone and they suffer not
The way I cry for you my dear, Mary Anne.