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PAULINE (Don Wayne) Jack Barlow - 1969 The paper said she'd been arrested six hundred times She died on the streets while her hands clutched a bottle of wine Her home was nowhere, just anywhere she lay her head I stared at her picture and cried at the words that I read Her last name was unknown, but she was well known as Pauline The streets were her living, but strong drink had hampered her means Just a drunken old woman, a lost lonely soul in the world But I loved her when she was hardly much more than a girl And I still remember the warm tender love of Pauline As I'd lie beside her and listen to her fondest dreams Just a little white house in a valley so pretty and green And I was a part of the dreams in the heart of Pauline I loved her dearly and I'm sure that she worshiped me Then someone called me a bad name that began with a B I ran to her crying and she held me close to her breast I said, "Am I, Mama?", and the teardrops that fell answered yes Then she began seeking the comforts of whiskey and gin She started having much more than her share of men friends One day I cursed her while she nursed her bottle of wine I said, "I hate you, Pauline, you're no mother of mine" But I still remember the warm tender love of Pauline I still recall how she'd hold me and rock me and sing So I'll go claim the body of the woman they know as Pauline And bury her high on a hillside so grassy and green Overlooking my home that's a lot like the one in her dreams (Transcribed by Mel Priddle - July 2012)

    


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