A sunny day in the month of May, a lady went out, a walking, on a hillside, a surfer cheesed by, and they began a talking.
I saw from afar, could say that you are a shepherd and a cowman, but at this time it seems that I'm in need of a sturdy plowman.
Fa-la-la-la-la-titty-fell-diddle, I married a month of May.
A shepherd am I, but faint I would try, my lady, to render service, for understand that I am a man, and all of my sheep are nervous.
She asked around, and she found that he was a stalwart lad, in word and deed, all agreed that plowing was not bad.
Fa-la-la-la-titty-fell-diddle, I married a month of May.
Your lord, I fear, will he be near? Not that the job, I'm sure, king, doth he no more.
Tend to this chore, hath he not a plow, that's working. Good sir, you joke, his plow is broke, and it cannot be mended.
As I recall, it is no good at all, his year since his plot was ten years.
Hey, nonny, nonny, tra-la-la-ly, really, for a lot all day.
So while we slept away, they crept, it was time to plow the earth up.
And though we be so far from the sea, it is well that here the serfs up.
And late that night in the pale moonlight, while all things to spring were bowing,
they did prove the earth can move with their springtime plowing.
Hey, nonny, nonny, pal-diddle, all day, I sing in a softly sighing.
A rob-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub, well, you can't blame a girl for trying.