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One fair girl with fine yellow hair
Wild flower of the west country
Left one night for a stormy ride
On a winding road to the east
One fair girl at the Birmingham Mill
For a dollar and a half times three
See the spinning wheels turn, she is young but she'll learn
With her slender white hands to weave
Twelve smoke stacks in a row row row
And a girl of five times three
See the mill boss patrol, hear the factory bells toll
And the girls look as sad as can be
And she cried for her home country
One little spark set a light to a flame
And the fire climbed through to the east
And the roof it crashed and the girls all dashed
And they all cried "oh god please"
And she crawled on her hands and her knees
Hey Folks
This is a old folk song I learned recently called "The Birminham Mill"
"The Birmingham Mill"
At the Birmingham Mill where the wild flowers grow
Round the grave of the girl so fair
See the lilly bells bloom round her cold marble tomb
And they come in the spring of the year
One fair girl with fine yellow hair
Wild flower of the west country
May she rest well amoungst the wold lilly bells
In her cold marble tomb in the east.
At the Birmingham Mill where the wild flowers grow
Round the grave of the girl so fair
See the lilly bells bloom round her cold marble tomb
And they come in the spring of the year
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