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BLOW, wind, blow! and go, mill, go!
That the miller may grind his corn;
That the baker may take it,
And into rolls make it,
And send us some hot in the morn.
SIMPLE Simon met a pieman,
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Let me taste your ware.
Says the pieman to Simple Simon,
Simple Simon went to look
TOM, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig, and away he run.
The pig was eat,
And Tom was beat,
And Tom ran crying down the street.