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Blow the Man Down (6) As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, To me way, hey, blow the man down, A fat Irish Bobby I chanced for to meet, Give me some time to blow the man down. Says he, ``You're a Black Baller from the cut of your hair; I can tell by those high red-topped sea boots you wear. ``You've come from some ship that flies the Black Ball, And you've robbed some poor Dutchman of his clothes, boots and all!'' Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow him away, Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow him to stay. Says I, ``Oh, no, sir, you do me great wrong, I'm a Flying Fish sailor, just home from Hong Kong!'' So I blew him right down, and I stove in his jaw; Says he then, ``Young feller, you're breaking the law!'' So six months I did, boys, in Liverpool town, For kicking and punching and blowing him down. Oh, blow the man, down, bullies, blow the man down; And a crew of hard cases from Liverpool town. JY
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