Very well do I like your red, rosy cheeks,
Very well do I like your chin,
But I like Matthy Grove in his gore of blood
More than you and all your kin!

When I've got no shoes, I'm gonna quit the street;
Take my chair and put a fan at my feet.

When I've got no man, no meat, no shoes,
I'll lay 'cross the bed, head in the blues.