We'll have a blue room, a new room-for-two room, Where everyday's a holiday because you're married to me. Not like a ballroom, a small room, a hall room, Where I can smoke my pipe away, with your wee head upon my knee. We will thrive on, keep alive on just nothing but kisses, With Mister and Missus on little blue chairs. You sew your trousseau and Robinson Crusoe Is not so far from worldly cares, As our blue room far away upstairs.
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