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Prickly thorn, but sweetly worn

par The White Stripes

lyricscopy.com
Singing
Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh

Well the hills are pretty and rollin´
But the thorn is sharp and swollen
And the man plays a beautiful whistle
But he wears a prickly thistle

Singing
Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh

The silver birches pierce through an icy fog
Which covers the ground most daily
And the angels which carry St. Andrew high
Are singing a tune most gaily

One sound can hold back a thousand hands
When the pipe plays a tune forlorn
And the thistle is a prickly flower
Aye, But how it is sweetly worn

Singing
Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
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