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 Because I was a wonton wild
 And welcomed many a lover,
Who is the father of my child
 I wish I could discover.
For though I know it is not right In tender arms to tarry, A barmaid has to be polite To Tom and Dick and Harry.
My truest love was Poacher Jim: I wish my babe was his'n.
Yet I can't father it on him Because he was in prison.
As uniforms I like, I had A soldier and a sailor; Then there was Pete the painter lad, And Timothy the tailor.
Though virtue hurt you vice ain't nice; They say to err is human; Alas! one pays a bitter price, It's hell to be a woman.
Oh dear! Why was I born a lass Who hated to say: No, sir.
I'd better in my sorry pass Blame Mister Simms, the grocer.

by Robert William Service
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