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Pretty Polly, please come on down |
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From your home home high up off the ground |
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In the tree dark and forlorn |
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Where the rope hangs bruised and worn |
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Though I'll never fly to you |
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It's the last thing I would do |
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You have dug two holes so deep |
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I'm afraid that one's for me |
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Pretty Polly must I cry |
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Without your voice I'll fear I'd die |
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The song you sing and the story you tell |
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We must keep them to ourselves |
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Oh I know my voice like nightingale |
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Now I have my brand new tale |
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Of a tree dark and forlorn |
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Where a rope hang bruised and worn |
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Petty Polly, I have bread |
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That I have not eaten yet |
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Come and take them from my thalls |
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Then we'll lay your song to rest |
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I suppose my song can wait |
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For I am hungry and grows late |
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I will eat your bread and then |
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I will sing my song a-gain |
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Pretty Polly, I had no choice |
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Stop your heart and steal your voice |
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One more little body so still |
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One more little hole to fill |
