The Foggy Foggy Dew When I was a bach'lor, I lived all alone, I worked at the weavers trade; and the only, only thing that I did that was wrong, was to woo a fair young maid. I wooed her in the wintertime, part of the summer too; and the only, only thing I did that was wrong, was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew. One night she knelt close by my side, when I was fast asleep. She threw her arms around my neck, and then began to weep. She wept, she cried she tore her hair ah, me. What could I do? So all night long I held her in my arms, just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew. Again I'm a bachlor, I live with my son, we work at the weaver's trade; and every single time that I look into his eyes, he reminds me of the fair young maid. He reminds me of the winter-time, part of the summer too. and of many, many times that I held her in my arms, just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
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