Pretty Polly, please come on down
From your home home high up off the ground
In the tree dark and forlorn
Where the rope hangs bruised and worn

Though I´ll never fly to you
It´s the last thing I would do
You have dug two holes so deep
I´m afraid that one´s for me

Pretty Polly must I cry
Without your voice I´ll fear I´d die
The song you sing and the story you tell
We must keep them to ourselves

Oh I know my voice like nightingale
Now I have my brand new tale
Of a tree dark and forlorn
Where a rope hang bruised and worn

Petty Polly, I have bread
That I have not eaten yet
Come and take them from my thalls
Then we´ll lay your song to rest

I suppose my song can wait
For I am hungry and grows late
I will eat your bread and then
I will sing my song a-gain

Pretty Polly, I had no choice
Stop your heart and steal your voice
One more little body so still
One more little hole to fill