Turaloo raloora, tooralooralie!
Where was the green and windy- the riverbank, the glen?
Where was the fair and laughing- the heart I came to mend?
Where was the low and downy loft that waits to fill the dark,
And honeyflow’r and berryvine that fills We and the Lark?
The lark, she sings a fair ole song, enough to make me cry.
T’was me and mine ole Merry beneath the ale-gold sky!
Ah, turaloo raloora, tooralooralie!
T’was me and mine ole Merry beaneath that ale-gold sky!
We weren’t no thieves, nor precious lads, but only precious high!
The lark, the song, the loft, the ale, and me and you besides!