| In a dear little village
|
| Remote and obscure
|
| A beautiful maiden resided
|
| As to whether or not
|
| Her intentions were pure
|
| Opinions were sharply divided
|
| She loved to lie
|
| Out 'neath the darkening sky
|
| And allow the night breeze
|
| To entrance her
|
| She whispered her dreams
|
| To the birds flying by
|
| But seldom received any answer
|
| Over the field and along the lane
|
| Gentle Alice would love to stray
|
| When it came to the end of the day
|
| She would wander away
|
| Unheeding
|
| Dreaming her innocent dreams she strode
|
| Quite unaffected by heat or cold
|
| Frequently freckled or soaked with rain
|
| Alice was out in the lane
|
| Who she met there
|
| Every day
|
| Was a question
|
| Answered by none
|
| But she’d get there
|
| And she’d stay there
|
| 'Til whatever she did
|
| Was undoubtedly done
|
| Over the field and along the lane
|
| Both her parents would call in vain
|
| Sadly, sorrowfully, they’d complain
|
| 'Alice is at it again.'
|
| Although that dear little village
|
| Surrounded by trees
|
| Had neither a school, nor a college
|
| Gentle Alice acquired
|
| From the birds and the bees
|
| Some exceedingly practical knowledge
|
| The curious secrets that nature revealed
|
| She refused to allow to upset her
|
| But she thought
|
| When observing the beasts of the field
|
| That things might have been organised better
|
| Over the field and along the lane
|
| Gentle Alice would make up
|
| And take up
|
| Her stand
|
| The road was not exactly arterial
|
| But it led to a town nearby
|
| Where quite a lot of masculine material
|
| Caught her rolling eye
|
| She was ready to hitchhike
|
| Cadillac or motorbike
|
| She wasn’t proud or choosy
|
| All she
|
| Was aiming to be
|
| Was a pinked-up
|
| Minked-up
|
| Fly-by-night floozy
|
| When old Rogers
|
| Gave her pearls as large as
|
| Nuts on a chestnut tree
|
| All she’d say was
|
| 'Fiddle-di-dee!
|
| The wages of sin will be the death of me!'
|
| Over the field and along the lane
|
| Gentle Alice’s parents
|
| Would wait
|
| Hand in hand
|
| Her dear old white-headed mother
|
| Wistfully sipping champagne
|
| Said 'We've spoiled our child
|
| Spared the rod
|
| Open up the caviar and say «Thank God!»
|
| We’ve got no cause to complain!
|
| Alice is at it again!' |