Ground for the Floor

I liv’d in the woods for a number of years,
With my dog and my gun drove away sorrow:
I’ve a sweet little cottage and the roof it’s secure,
If you look underneath you’ll find ground for the floor.

My cottage is surrounded with brambles and thorn
How sweet are the notes of the birds in the morn,
I’ve a guinea in my pocket and plenty more in store,
And a sweet little cottage that’s got ground for the floor.

As for grates I’ve got none, for my fire’s on the ground,
And chairs I’ve got not for to sit myself down,
I’ve got a three-legged stool that’s the chief of my store,
And a sweet little cottage that’s got ground for the floor.

My bed’s made of straw for my limbs to repose,
And as for myself I’ve but one suit of cloaths,
That is made of good ticking and stiched up secure,
If you look underneath, you’ll find ground for this floor.

God bless my old father who is dead and gone,
I hope he’s safe in heaven and never to return;
He left me all the riches which are heaped up in store,
And a sweet little cottage, that’s got ground for the floor.

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