Part 17 (2/2)
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me, On the land or on the sea, Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
There the golden peaches s.h.i.+ne In their syrup clear and fine, And the raspberries are blus.h.i.+ng with a dusky glow.
And the cherry and the plum Seem to beckon you to come To the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me, On the land or on the sea, Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
There the sprightly pickles stand, With the catsup close at hand, And the marmalades and jellies in a goodly row.
While the quinces' ruddy fire Would an anchorite inspire To seek the little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me, On the land or on the sea, Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
Never tell me of your bowers That are full of bugs and flowers!
Never tell me of your meadows where the breezes blow!
But sing me, if you will, Of the house beneath the hill, And the darling little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me, On the land or on the sea, Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
MOTHER ROSEBUSH.
There are roses that grow on a vine, on a vine, There are roses that grow on a stalk; But my little Rose Grows on ten little toes, So I'll take my Rose out for a walk.
Come out in the garden, Rosy Posy, Come visit your cousins, child, with me!
If you are my daughter, it stands to reason Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.
Now, here is your cousin Damask, Rosy!
And, Rosy, here is your cousin Blush; General Jacqueminot, (Your uncle, you know,) Salutes you hero with his crimson flush.
Here's Gloire de Dijon, a splendid fellow, All creamy and dreamy and soft and sweet; And Cloth-of-Gold, with his coat of yellow, Is dropping rose-n.o.bles here at your feet.
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