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There is a small mill, 
Stands on a clear rill, 
At the foot of a hill; 
To run it needs a skill. 
 
I have a great will, 
I want to fulfill: 
To put a dinosaur on grill, 
With a beer to swill. 
I have a stomach to fill. 
I am in great thrill, 
With my voice so shrill, 
Sharp like tip of a quill. 
Almost let beer spill. 
I have to hold it still, 
And lay it on the sill. 
Then I am taken ill, 
Feeling really chill, 
And must take a pill. 
So I can't go to drill 
To have free time kill. |   
 
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