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In a former life I know . . . the smells the feel the taste the life They lead in the dens |
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Which they used to sell in stores And save me, please, from laudanum Which used to treat our sores |
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By the opium flower Don't want no Opium Wars Not in my backyard |
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the joints the Tongs the huddling Over a pipe Warmed by a stove In my bunk Pigtailed Bamboo slippers Eyes glassy and gone |
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Please save me Save me From such a fate as this |
