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I will not curse you, my rose, it is not my habit.
Song
1. I do not curse you, my rose, not my habit, ; Only let your washcloth turn to blood, ; Let your towel catch fire, ; May your heart never ache for mine. ; ; 2. I do not curse you, my rose, not my disgrace, ; (only) For nine years, press the bed, ; Nine carts of pure wheat, straw ; Let it rot, my unfaithful baby, in your bed.