Oliver Cromwell

Lyrics

Oliver Cromwell is buried and dead.
There grew an old apple tree over his head.
The apples were ripe and ready to fall.
There came an old woman and gathered them all
Oliver rose and gave her a clop.
Which made the old woman go hippity-hop.
Saddle and bridle they hang on the shelf,
If you want any more you must make it yourself.

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