Say, birdies, when your bed-time comes, And underneath your mother's wing You're tucked away so carefully, Does Mamma Birdie to you sing The Bye-low Song? Say, little lamb, with curly hair, That in the field is gamboling The whole day through, when bed-time comes. Does Mamma Sheep then to you sing The Bye-low Song? I know that when my bed-time comes, And I am tired of everything, I cannot go to sleep unless I hear my Mamma softly sing The Bye-Low Song. |