Bonny Bunch of Roses

By the margins of the ocean

One pleasant evening in the month of June

The sweet feathered songsters

Their liquid notes did sing in tune

It was there I beheld a lady

Seemingly in grief and woe

Conversing with young Napoleon

Concerning the bonny bunch of roses, oh

"Oh, mother," cried young Napoleon

As he gripped her by the hand

"Oh, mother, pray be patient

Until I'm able to command

And I'll raise a mighty army

And over the frozen realms I'll go

In spite of all the universe

I'll bring back the bonny bunch of roses, oh"

"Oh, son, don't be so venturesome

Old England, she has a heart of oak

And England, Ireland, and Scotland

Their unity shall ne'er be broke

Oh, son, think of your father

In Saint Helena his body lies, oh

And you may follow after

So forget about the bonny bunch of roses, oh"

For he had three hundred thousand men

With lords and kings to swell his throng

He was so well provided

Enough to drive the world around

Oh, but when he came to Moscow

He was overpowered by the driving snow

And Moscow was ablaze, and

And he lost the bonny bunch of roses, oh

Bonny bunch of roses, oh

Bonny bunch of roses

Bonny bunch of roses, oh

Bonny bunch of roses

"Oh, mother, adieu forever

For now I'm in my dying bed

If I'd lived I might have been clever

But now I droop my foolish head

But when my bones do moulder

And weeping willows around me grow

The tears of old Napoleon

Shall sting the bonny bunch of roses, oh"

Bonny bunch of roses, oh

Bonny bunch of roses

Bonny bunch of roses, oh

Bonny bunch of roses