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There once was a Baker with piercing blue eyes,  a cranky old Baker whom all despised.   There once was a Baker with hair flaming red, a crusty old Baker a man many dread.  
When people you don't know tell you you have beautiful hair When hair stylists tell you that if they could bottle your colour they'd be rich
The ginger, the bucklebunny, occasionally The +1, I'm called a lot of names, but one always jumps the gun. It depends on how you meet me, and what we're calling fun, It depends on if I'm being flirty, calling you my hun.
Ginger and Persimmons the scent of desert far mixed with spice and orient of mystery and of death the wisdom of a dying man held beneath the desert sky whispers of an ancient time
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