(trad., tune Eric Winter)

Come each jolly fellow who seeks to be mellow
Attend unto me and sit easy
For a pint when it's quiet, my lads, let us try it
For thinking will drive a man crazy

	I have lawns, I have bowers, I have fruit, I have flowers
	And the lark is my morning alarmer
	So my jolly boys now here's good luck to the plough
	Long life and success to the farmer

Draw near to my table, my lads, if you're able
Let me hear not one word of complaining
For the tinkling of glasses all music surpasses
And I love to see bottles a-draining

For here I am king, I will dance, drink and sing
Let no man appear as a stranger
And show me the ass who refuses a glass
And I'll treat him to hay in a manger

Let the wealthy and great roll in splendour and state,
I envy them not, I declare it
For I eat my own ham, my own chicken and lamb
I shear my own fleece and I wear it

By ploughing and sowing, by reaping and mowing
King nature affords me aplenty
I've a cellar well stored and a plentiful board
And a garden affords every dainty

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