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Ode to George

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Ode to George

George who sits outside all day
His guitar aloft, his voice all astray.
He sings all riddles of rock and pop
Which find themselves in our dear shop
He wishes people would get the hint
He wants rubies and diamonds,
not Wrigley’s “extra -mint” 
The coppers are bent and the pounds are sour
He hasn’t the nerve to charge per the hour
But still he strums those faithful tunes
The ones that will surely bring people back soon.
On he goes with his hard days work
At his outside office with tie and shirt.
Although we love to hear you sing
There might be just one tiny thing
You never seem to change at all
From melody of Gallagher, Travis or Paul!

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