Answer:
Some live in me, some live on. And some shave me to stride upon. I rarely leave my native land. Until my death I always stand. High and low I may be found. Both above and below ground.
Big as a biscuit, deep as a cup, but even a river canβt fill it up. What is it?
It's like food but water kills it. What is it?
Gold in a leather bag, swinging on a tree, money after honey in its time. Ills of a scurvy crew cured by the sea, reason in its season but no rhyme.
This thing runs but cannot walk, sometimes sings but never talks. Lacks arms, has hands; lacks a head but has a face.
If itβs information you seek, come and see me. If itβs pairs of letters you need, I have consecutively three. What am I?