The ba-by is so fat and odd, they twine a wreath of gold-en-rod,
And make be-lieve she's queen—the lit-tle lass.
And af-ter she is crowned, and af-ter she is crowned,
They'll fetch their bask-ets full of lunch, and seat them-selves a-round;
The queen will nib-ble bread and cheese, will catch a lit-tle cold, will sneeze,
And throw her crusts and crumbs up-on the ground.
Oh, nev-er, nev-er mind, oh, nev-er, nev-er mind,
If at a din-ner on the green some fun-ny things you find—
All sort of bugs that want the cake; or if a crick-et by mis-take
Crawls on the sand-wiches, oh, nev-er mind!