| Smiling girls and rosy boys
|
| Come and buy my little toys
|
| Monkeys made of gingerbread
|
| And sugar horses painted red
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| Rich men’s children running past
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| Their fathers dressed in hose
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| Golden hair and mud of many acres on their shoes
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| Gazing eyes and running wild
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| Past the stocks and over stiles
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| Kiss the window merry child
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| But come and buy my toys
|
| You’ve watched your father plough the fields with a ram’s horn
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| Sowed it wide with peppercorn and furrowed with a bramble thorn
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| Reaped it with a sharpened scyth, threashed it with a quill
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| The miller told your father that he’d work it with the greatest will
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| Now your watching’s over you must play with girls and boys
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| Leave the parsley on the stalls
|
| Come and buy my toys
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| You shall own a cambric shirt
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| You shall work your father’s land
|
| But now you shall play in the market square
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| Till you’ll be a man
|
| Smiling girls and rosy boys
|
| Come and buy my little toys
|
| Monkeys made of gingerbread
|
| And sugar horses painted red |