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Pretty Polly, please come on downFrom your home home high up off the groundIn the tree dark and forlornWhere the rope hangs bruised and wornThough I'll never fly to youIt's the last thing I would doYou have dug two holes so deepI'm afraid that one's for mePretty Polly must I cryWithout your voice I'll fear I'd dieThe song you sing and the story you tellWe must keep them to ourselvesOh I know my voice like nightingaleNow I have my brand new taleOf a tree dark and forlornWhere a rope hang bruised and wornPetty Polly, I have breadThat I have not eaten yetCome and take them from my hallsThen we'll lay your song to restI suppose my song can waitFor I am hungry and grows lateI will eat your bread and thenI will sing my song again From Letras Mania