Vermont Summer 210

We sing a song of haying
And pray for sun not rain;
And hope the clouds will go away
And ease this dismal pain.

Chorus:
We mow and ted
And ted and rake
And rake and bale
And bale and load,
And bring those bales back home.

It rained so hard the other night,
The cows all flowed away;
And all the tourists from New York
Decided not to stay.

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