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Sarah Brightman > The Trees They Grow So High > 19 - Oliver Cromwell

Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead,
Hee-haw, buried and dead,
There grew an old apple-tree over his head,
Hee-haw, over his head.
The apples were ripe and ready to fall,
Hee-haw, ready to fall,
There came an old woman to gather them all,
Hee-haw, gather them all.
Oliver rose and gave her a drop,
Hee-haw, gave her a drop,
Which made the old woman go hippety hop,
Hee-haw, hippety hop.
The saddle and bridle, they lie on the shelf,
Hee-haw, lie on the shelf,
If you want any more your can sing it yourself,
Hee-haw, sing it yourself.

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