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We folk, good folk, trooping all together, |
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Green jacket, red cap and a white house feather. |
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Down along the rocky shores, |
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We live amongst the mud pores |
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Eating crispy pancakes made from yellow tide foam. |
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Up the Airy Mountain, |
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Down the bushy glen |
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We daren't go hunting for fear of little men. |
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High on a hill top and good king sits up |
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He is now so old and grey he cannot keep his wits up. |
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There's music for the master, a cold starry night |
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While he sups with the Queen from the gay northern lights. |
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And its.. |
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Up the Airy Mountain, |
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Down the bushy glen |
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We daren't go hunting for fear of little men. |
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Near the Creaky Mountain lake, passed the mosses bear, |
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There lies a fiery dragon without any hair. |
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He sleeps in the day time and feeds at night, |
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When we folk, good folk, stay from sight. |
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Up the Airy Mountain, |
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Down the bushy glen |
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We daren't go hunting for fear of little men. |
