We folk, good folk, trooping all together Green jacket, red cap and a white house feather Down along the rocky shores We live amongst the mud pores Eating crispy pancakes made from yellow tide foam Up the Airy Mountain Down the bushy glen We daren't go hunting for fear of little men High on a hill top and good king sits up He is now so old and grey he cannot keep his wits up There's music for the master, a cold starry night While he sups with the Queen from the gay northern lights And its.. Up the Airy Mountain Down the bushy glen We daren't go hunting for fear of little men Near the Creaky Mountain lake, pa**ed the mosses bear There lies a fiery dragon without any hair He sleeps in the day time and feeds at night When we folk, good folk, stay from sight Up the Airy Mountain Down the bushy glen We daren't go hunting for fear of little men