Standard (EADGBE)
About a maid, I'll sing a song Sing rickety tickety tin
About a maid, I'll sing a song Who didn't have her family long
Not only did she do them wrong She did every one of them in,
Them in, She did every one of them in
One morning in a fit of pique, Sing rickety tickety tin
One morning in a fit of pique, she drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week So we had to make do with gin
With gin, we had to make do with gin
Her mother she could never stand, Sing rickety tickety tin
Her mother she could never stand, and so a cyanide soup she planned
The mother died with a spoon in her hand, and her face in a hideous grin
A grin, her face in a hideous grin
She weighted her brother down with stones, Sing rickety tickety tin
She weighted her brother down with stones, and sent him off to Davey Jones
And all that they ever found were some bones, and occasional pieces of
Skin, Of skin, occasional pieces of skin
She set her sister's hair on fire, Sing rickety tickety tin
She set her sister's hair on fire, and as the smoke and flames rose higher
Danced around the funeral pyre, playing the vi-o-lin
o-lin, playing the violin
One day when she had nothing to do, Sing rickety tickety tin
One day when she had nothing to do, she cut her baby brother in two
And served him up as an Irish stew, and invited the neighbors in,
Bors in, Invited the neighbors in
And when at last the police came by, Sing rickety tickety tin
And when at last the police came by, her foolish pranks she did not deny
For to do so she would have had to lie, and for lying she knew was a sin
A sin, lying she knew was a sin
My tragic tale I won't prolong, Sing rickety tickety tin
My tragic tale I won't prolong, and if you did not enjoy my song
You've yourselves to blame if it was too long, you should never have let me
begin, Begin, you should never have let me begin
From: "Harriet Allen" Date: Fri, 28 Jun 2002 01:27:52 GMT