In The City

OH! City girls are pale-like, And proud-like, and cold-like, And nineteen out of twenty Have never been our way. I tells them of the tall hills, The green hills, the old hills, Where hawthorns are a-blossoming, And thrushes call all day.

Oh! London is a fine place, A big place, a rich place, Where nineteen out of twenty Of all the girls are fair. But well I knows a white road, A long road, a straight road, That leads me into Bosbury; I’m wishing I was there!