The fox and his wife they had a great strife,
They never eat mustard in all their whole life;
They eat their meat without fork or knife,
And lov'd to be picking a bone, ee-oh!

The fox jump'd up on a moonlight night;
The stars they were shining, and all things bright;
"O-ho!" said the fox, "It's a very fine night,
For me to go through the town, ee-oh!"

The fox, when he came to yonder stile,
He lifted his lugs' and he listen'd a while!
"Oh, ho!" said the fox, 'it's a very short mile
From this unto yonder wee town, ee-oh!"

The fox when he came to the farmer's gate,
Who should he see but the farmer's drake;
"I love you well for your master's sake
And long to be picking your bone, ee-oh!"

The grey goose she ran round the farmer's stack,'
"Oh, ho!" said the fox, "you are plump and fat;
You'll grease my beard and ride on my back,
From this into yonder wee town, ee-oh!"

The farmer's wife she jump'd out of bed,
And out of the window she popp'd her head!
"Oh, husband! oh, husband! The geese are all dead,
For the fox has been through the town, ee-oh!"

The farmer he loaded his pistol with lead,
And shot the old rogue of a fox through his head;
"Ah, ha!" said the farmer, "I think you're quite dead;
And no more you'll trouble the town, ee-oh!"