Pretty Polly

Pretty Polly, please come on down

From your home home high up off the ground

In the tree dark and forlorn

Where the rope hangs bruised and worn

Though I'll never fly to you

It's the last thing I would do

You have dug two holes so deep

I'm afraid that one's for me

Pretty Polly must I cry

Without your voice I'll fear I'd die

The song you sing and the story you tell

We must keep them to ourselves

Oh I know my voice like nightingale

Now I have my brand new tale

Of a tree dark and forlorn

Where a rope hang bruised and worn

Petty Polly, I have bread

That I have not eaten yet

Come and take them from my thalls

Then we'll lay your song to rest

I suppose my song can wait

For I am hungry and grows late

I will eat your bread and then

I will sing my song a-gain

Pretty Polly, I had no choice

Stop your heart and steal your voice

One more little body so still

One more little hole to fill