'Oranges and lemons,'
Say the bells of St Clements.
'You owe me five farthings,'
Say the bells of St Martins.
'When will you pay me?'
Say the bells of Old Bailey.
'When I grow rich,'
Say the bells at Shoreditch.
'When will that be?'
Say the bells of Stepney.
'I'm sure I don 't know,'
Says the great bell at Bow.
Here comes the candle to light you to bed,
Here comes the chopper to chop off your head,
Chip chop, chip chop, the last man's head!
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