Classic Poem

Our oats they are hoed, and our barley's reap'd,
Our hay it is mow'd, and our hovel's heap'd:
Harvest home, harvest home!
We'll merrily roar our harvest home!
Harvest home! harvest home!
We'll merrily roar our harvest home!

We cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again;
For why should the vicar have one in ten,
One in ten, one in ten,
For why should the vicar have one in ten?

For staying while dinner is cold and hot.
And pudding and dumplings burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot, burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot.

We'll drink off our liquor while we can stand,
And hey for the honour of old England,
Old England, old England,
And hey for the honour of old England!