I like to rise when the sun she rises,
early in the morning
And I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their laylums
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to ramble in the new mowed hay.
In spring we sow at the harvest mow
And that is how the seasons round they go
but of all the times choose I may
I'd be rambling through the new mowed hay.
For I like to rise when the sun she rises,
early in the morning
And I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their laylums
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to ramble in the new mowed hay.
In winter when the sky's gray
we hedge and ditch our times away,
but in summer when the sun shines gay,
We'd go ramblin' through the new mowed hay.
For I like to rise when the sun she rises,
early in the morning
And I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their laylums
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to ramble in the new mowed hay.

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS