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.
