I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.
In spring we sow
At the harvest mow,
And that's how the seasons round they go.
But of all the times to choose I may,
I'd be rumbling through the new mowed hay.
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.
In the Summer time
When the sun shines hot,
We sing and we dance and we drink a lot.
We spend all night in sports and play,
And go rumbling through the new mowed hay.
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.
Im autum when
The oak trees turn,
Whe gather all the wood that's fit to burn.
We cut and stash and stow away
And go rumbling through the new mowed hay.
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.
In the winter time
When the sky's are grey,
We hedge and ditch our times away,
But in the summer time, when the sun shines gay,
We go rumbling through the new mowed hay.
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.
Oh Nancy is
My darling gay
And she blooms like the flowers every day.
But I love her best in the month of may,
When we're rumbling through the new mowed hay.
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.
I like ro hear
The morris dancers
Clash their sticks and drink our ale.
I like to hear those bells a-ringing
As we ramble through the new mowed hay.
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
Early in the Morning.
I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their branches.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to rumble in the new mowed hay.