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I never tried to be the people's saint,
And though I robbed and stole, I did it plain;
Boy, never bluff to be a thing you ain't
Was my late father's last deathbed refrain.
Don't mourn for me? Well, I would have you mourn:
Fill all the city's gutters with your tears,
Let none spare breath for criticism, scorn
Those who would mute your sobbing with their cheers.
No bier bouquet too big nor wail too high;
Good men should be well-missed, and so should I!

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