Lady bird, lady bird
Lady bird, lady bird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire, your children have flown.
All but one, and her name is Ann,
And she has crept under the pudding-pan.
Hushy baby, my doll
USHY baby, my doll, I pray you don't cry,
And I'll give you some bread and some milk by-and-by;
Or, perhaps you like custard, or maybe a tart,—
Then to either you're welcome, with all my whole heart.
But how, my dear baby, shall I make you eat
Of the bread, or the milk, or the custard, or meat?
For those pretty red lips seem shut up so fast,
I much fear they won't open to taste the repast.
Ah! but then, my sweet child, you'll surely not cry,
Oh no, not one tear is there now in your eye;
Come kiss me, my dear, then, although you're but wood,
For I'm sure now you smile, and look very good.
Cock a doodle doo!
