Robin-a-Thrush

Oh Robin-a-Thrush, he married a wife,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
She proved to be the plague of his life ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

She never gets up ’til twelve o’clock,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
Puts on her gown and above it her smock ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

She sweeps the house but once a year,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
The reason is that the brooms are dear ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

She milks her cows but once a week,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
And that’s what makes her butter sweet ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

The butter she made in an old man’s boot,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
For want of a churn she clapp’d in her foot ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

Her cheese when made was put on the shelf,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now,
And it never was turned till it turned of itself ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

It turned and turned ’til it walked on the floor,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
It stood upon legs and walked out the door ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

It walked ’til it came to Banbury Fair,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
The dame followed after upon a grey mare ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.

This song, it was made for gentlemen,
With a hoppety, moppety, mow, now ;
If you want any more, you must sing it again ;
With a hig-jig-jiggety, ruffety petticoat.
Robin-a-Thrush cries mow, now.