Prickly Thorn, but Sweetly Worn The White Stripes
Well the [D]hills are pretty and rollin'
But the [C]thorn is sharp and swollen
And the [D]man plays a beautiful whistle
But he [C]wears a prickly thistle
Singing [D]Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well [C]A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
[D]Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well [C]A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
The [D]silver birches pierce through an icy fog
Which [C]covers the ground most daily
And the [D]angels which carry St. Andrew high
Are [C]singing a tune most gaily
One [D]sound can hold back a thousand hands
When [C]the pipe plays a tune forlorn
And t[D]he thistle is a prickly flower
Aye, [C]But how it is sweetly worn
Singing [D]Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well [C]A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
[D]Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
Well [C]A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh
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