These folk parodies are great fun...my Dad always used to recite it as...

"Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village smith he stands.
His breast was bare, his matted hair
Lay buried in the sand.

He did not feel the driver's whip
Nor the burning heat of the day,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, Mother,
For I'm to be Queen of the May!"

You had to be there!

Best wishes,

Peter