| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - Yes, you may, my son; Wear your woollen comforter, But do not fire off your gun.There was an owl lived in an oak, Wisky, wasky, weedle; And every word he ever spoke Was fiddle, faddle, feedle.A gunner chanced to come that way, Wisky, wasky, weedle; Says he, I will shoot you, silly bird.
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