She sits and she composes her song
And all the birds , they go flitting along
And it skits, it scats and it throngs
With alley cats, the dogs howling too strong
And the train, the train rumbles on
The last refrain, she always gets wrong
And the frogs are leaping into her pond
And the birds are tweeting, while she keeps writing her song
Oh ribbet, ribbet
Rib-eye steak
In the time of Henry the Eighth
The Bishop had his eye on the market square
Looking out for bargains here and there
The Bishop's nose
The bishop's feet
Oh how they grow
In inches sweet
Yet he jumps back in his pond
Repeats, I have my eye on you
Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet
bleat!
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