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