My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell, My neighbor must look down on me, Must I look up?--ah, well, My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell. My neighbor reads, and prays, And I--I laugh, God wot, And sing like a bird when the gra** is green In my small garden plot; But ah, he reads and prays, And I--I laugh, God wot. His face is a book of woe, And mine is a song of glee; A slave he is to the great 'They say,' But I--I am bold and free; No wonder he smacks of woe, And I have the tang of glee. My neighbor thinks me a fool, 'The same to yourself,' say I; 'Why take your books and take your prayers, Give me the open sky;' My neighbor thinks me a fool, 'The same to yourself,' say I.