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BIRTHDAY RINGS
Our Birthdays come, our Birthdays go
They stack up in a pile
They seem to happen every year
Not just once in a while
Grown up I was when I was eight
More so when twenty two
Most people are not comfortable
Asking, “How old are you?”
They try to guess when wrinkles seen
Around your mouth and eyes
There’s really no good way to tell
‘Cause folks they can tell lies
I’m glad I’m not a tree, no sir
No rings to count, to see
How old I am, don’t cut me down
Better yet just ask me
LISTEN TO ME READ
I just had my Birthday, so... well, there you go.
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