« AnteriorContinuar »
We're three brethren out of Spain,
Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow ? With silver bells and cockle shells,
And maidens all in a row.
When I was a little boy, my mother kept me in,
The sweetest notes he always sung,
Which much delighted Mary,
She stood to hear Canary.
This is the way the ladies ride,
Prim, prim, prim;
Trim, trim, trim.
Hobbledy gee, hobbledy gee.
I had a little husband no bigger than my thumb,
As I was going to St. Ives,
I met seven wives,
Kits, cats, sacks and wives,