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There is a small mill,
Stands on a clear rill,
At the foot of a hill;
To run it needs a skill.
I have a great will,
I want to fulfill:
To put a dinosaur on grill,
With a beer to swill.
I have a stomach to fill.
I am in great thrill,
With my voice so shrill,
Sharp like tip of a quill.
Almost let beer spill.
I have to hold it still,
And lay it on the sill.
Then I am taken ill,
Feeling really chill,
And must take a pill.
So I can't go to drill
To have free time kill. |
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