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the hills of Donegal, ladies and gentlemen,
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and it's gone in a flash.
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A boil appears. You pay it no mind.
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But suddenly there's a second! And a third!
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And before you know it, the sufferings of Job are upon you!
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A wart, madam. Starts off small, doesn't it?
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But without a touch of the moss,
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it can grow as big as your head!
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This is never moss.
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It's cheese mould.
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They're a pair of confidence men!
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You bastards!