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