How delightful to see, in those evenings of spring
The sheep going home to the fold
The master do sing, as he views everything
And the dog goes before him where told, and the dog goes before him where told
The sixth month of the year, in the month we call June
When the weather's too hot to be borne
The master do say, as he goes on his way,
"Tomorrow my sheep shall be shorn, tomorrow ..."
Now as for those sheep, they're delightful to see
They're a blessing to a man on his farm
For their flesh it is good, it's the best of all food,
And their wool it will clothe us up warm, and their wool ...
Now the sheep they're all shorn, and the wool carried home
Here's a health to our master and flock
And if we should stay, till the last goes away,
I'm afraid 'twill be past twelve o'clock, I'm afraid ...