The carrion crow he sat upon an oak,
And he spied an old tailor a cutting out a cloak.
Heigho! the carrion crow.
The carrion crow he began for to rave,
And he called the tailor a lousy knave!
Heigho! the carrion crow.
‘Wife, go fetch me my arrow and my bow,
I’ll have a shot at that carrion crow.’
Heigho! the carrion crow.
The tailor he shot, and he missed his mark,
But he shot the old sow through the heart.
Heigho! the carrion crow.
‘Wife, go fetch me some treacle in a spoon,
For the old sow’s in a terrible swoon!’
Heigho! the carrion crow.
The old sow died, and the bells they did toll,
And the little pigs prayed for the old sow’s soul!
Heigho! the carrion crow.
‘Never mind,’ said the tailor, ‘I don’t care a flea,
There’ll be still black-puddings, souse, and chitterlings for me.’
Heigho! the carrion crow.
THE LEATHERN BOTTEL.
SOMERSETSHIRE VERSION.
[In Chappell’s Popular Music is a much longer version of The Leathern Bottèl. The following copy is the one sung at the present time by the country-people in the county of Somerset. It has been communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys.]