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A-wassail, a-wassail throughout our town,
Our cup it is white and our ale it is brown.
Our wassail is made of the good ale and true,
Some nutmeg and ginger, it's the best we can brew.

Fol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dol,
Fol-dee-dol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dee,
Fol-dee-derol, fol-dee-der-dee,
Sing too-ra-li-doh.

Our wassail is made of the elderberry bough,
And so my good neighbours, we'll drink unto thou,
Besides all on earth, you'll have apples in store,
Pray let us come in for it's cold by the door.

Fol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dol,
Fol-dee-dol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dee,
Fol-dee-derol, fol-dee-der-dee,
Sing too-ra-li-doh.

There's a master and a mistress sitting down by the fire
While we poor wassail boys do wait in the mire.
And you pretty maid with your silver-headed pin,
Please open the door and let us come in.

Fol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dol,
Fol-dee-dol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dee,
Fol-dee-derol, fol-dee-der-dee,
Sing too-ra-li-doh.

We know by the moon that we are not too soon,
And we know by the sky that we are not too high.
We know by the stars that we are not too far,
And we know by the ground that we are within sound.

Fol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dol,
Fol-dee-dol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dee,
Fol-dee-derol, fol-dee-der-dee,
Sing too-ra-li-doh.

There's our wassail boys growing weary and cold,
Drop a bit of small silver into our old bowl,
And if we're alive for another New Year,
Perhaps we may call and see who do live here.

Fol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dol,
Fol-dee-dol-dee-dol, fol-dee-dol-dee-dee,
Fol-dee-derol, fol-dee-der-dee,
Sing too-ra-li-doh.

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.