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| In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine, Dwelt a miner, forty-nine And his daughter, Clementine. Chours: Oh my darling, oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine, Thou art lost and gone forever, Dreadful sorry, Clementine. Light she was and like a fairy, And her shoes were number nine, Herring boxes without topses, Sandals were for Clementine. Drove she ducklings to the water, Ev’ry morning just at nine, Hit her foot against a splinter, Fell into the foaming brine. Saw her lips above the water, Blowing bubbles soft and fine, But alas! I was no swimmer, So I lost my Clementine. In my dreams she still doth haunt me, Robed in garments soaked in brine, Though in life I used to hug her, Now she’s dead I draw the line. |