Paroles de Song of the Troubled One

What the thrush toils at The partridge asks for The hapless one takes The troubled one steals Puts upon a spade Sets on a runner Hides under a door Shields with a bath-whisk The farmer hammers And tempers his spears Marries off his sons Hands out his daughters In boots clogged with ckay In fancy mittens The sea-swell rumbles And the winds it blows And the king hears it From five miles away From six directions From seven back woods From eight heaths away. The farmer hammers And tempers his spears Marries off his sons Hands out his daughters In boots clogged with clay In fancy mittens Song of the troubled one