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Twelve past three, I finished my tea And left for the forest so I could see A winter's gift was just waiting for me. I took my ax as I went to set free A snowflake-covered Christmas fir tree. And as I swung at this mighty big tree, A vision in black pointed at me, Saying, "son β you better go flee." I turned around ignoring his plea; Swinging the ax as he counted to three; It ended with the removal of my knee! With one limb gone, we both agreed I ignored the sign and refused to leave; For it stated that nothing is free Upon these grounds of the Cherokee.
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