Текст и слова песни Misc Folk – Three Drunken Maidens
There were three drunken maidens came from the Isle of Wight,
They drank from Monday morning, nor stopped 'til Saturday night,
When Saturday night did come, my boys, they wouldn't then go out,
And these three drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
Then in comes bouncing Sally, her cheeks as red as a bloom,
Move up my jolly sisters, and give young Sally some room,
For I'll be your equal before the night is out,
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
There's woodcock and pheasant, there's partridge and hare,
There's all sorts of dainties, no scarcity was there,
There's forty quarts of beer, they fairly drunk them out,
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
Then in comes the landlord, he's asking for his pay,
There's a forty-pound bill, my boys, these girls has got to pay,
That's ten pounds apiece, my boys, but still they wouldn't go
Out,
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
Oh, where are your feather hats, your mantles rich and fine,
They've all been swallowed up, my lads, in tankards of good wine,
And where are your maidenheads, you maidens brisk and gay,
We left them in the alehouse, we drank them clean away.
They drank from Monday morning, nor stopped 'til Saturday night,
When Saturday night did come, my boys, they wouldn't then go out,
And these three drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
Then in comes bouncing Sally, her cheeks as red as a bloom,
Move up my jolly sisters, and give young Sally some room,
For I'll be your equal before the night is out,
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
There's woodcock and pheasant, there's partridge and hare,
There's all sorts of dainties, no scarcity was there,
There's forty quarts of beer, they fairly drunk them out,
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
Then in comes the landlord, he's asking for his pay,
There's a forty-pound bill, my boys, these girls has got to pay,
That's ten pounds apiece, my boys, but still they wouldn't go
Out,
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about.
Oh, where are your feather hats, your mantles rich and fine,
They've all been swallowed up, my lads, in tankards of good wine,
And where are your maidenheads, you maidens brisk and gay,
We left them in the alehouse, we drank them clean away.
К сожалению, прослушивание недоступно в данный момент
