Nhạc sĩ: Traditional | Lời: Traditional
Lời đăng bởi: 86_15635588878_1671185229650
Well, the cuckoo is a pretty bird
And she wobbles as she flies
But she never sings cuckoo
Till the fourth day of July
I've gambled
in England I've gambled in Spain
And I bet you ten dollars That I'll beat you
next game
I built me a cabin on a mountain so high
So I can see Nelly as she goes right by
I wish I was a poet And could write a fine hand
But I'd write my love a letter Lord,
she would understand
