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A minstrel's got gold sometimes.
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We could jump him, tie him up,
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steal his gold, and buy some food.
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*And so he spoke, and so he spoke*
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*that lord of Castamere,*
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*But now the rains weep o'er his hall,*
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*with no one there to hear.*
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What's lurking behind that wall?
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A lion? A wolf?
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Just a dirty little cub, I think.
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- Loose a few more shafts. - Don't.
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Put the sword down, girl.