SOUTHREPPS WASSAIL SONG
All on a summer's morning from Southrepps come we
To beg a cup of sugar to sweeten our tea.
If you ain't got a cup, then a half a cup will do.
And if you ain't got that, well, bugger you.
The master of this house in his rusty gold chain
Will stamp his foot and curse and bitterly complain.
He'll say he's most offended at his house we've been so bold,
And if he had his way, we'd be left out in the cold.
The missus of this house with her stockings all tore
Will soon fall asleep and loudly will snore.
The children of this house under table do run
Until they all get dizzy and fall down on the floor.
There's mud all on their rich attire and jam all on their face,
And every hair upon their head is all out of place.
The daughter of this house is a proper little whore,
She's had all the blokes round here, and twenty more.
See how the swains adore her pretty curly hair,
Until she takes it off at night, which makes them all stare.
This house and this arbor are in disrepair.
I'd live all in my cowshed as soon as I'd live there.
Your men and your maidens are rolling in the hay,
Your cattle and your sheep have all passed away.
Bad luck to this house, here the season's begun.
Where you had ten apples, may you have one.
Now we'll come no more nigh you until the next year,
And the last thing we'll do is to wish you good cheer.
Copyright Dambuster Records
@parody @wassail @seasonal @Xmas @English
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