An old farmer’s wife an hooped petticoat wore,
’Twas as wide as an haystack behind and before,
The wind caught the bottom as you may suppose,
Then up in the clouds in a moment she goes.
I knew a young milkmaid at old Farmer Days,
She sold her frock and trousers, her stockings and stays,
From her master’s beer barrel, a hoop then she took,
And she had it sown round her new red petticoat.
She got up one morning, so buxom and fine,
She quickly went folding her new crinoline,