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Twas
the month after Christmas, and all through the house The
cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste When
I got on the scales there arose such a number! I'd
remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared; The
cakes and the pies, the bread and the cheese As
I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt I
said to myself, as I only can - So,
away with the last of the sour cream dip, Every
last bit of food that I like must be banished I
won't have a cookie, not even a lick. I
won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, I'm
hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore ... Unable
to giggle, no longer a riot. Author Unknown |
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