Misc Traditional – High Germany (Ukulele)

  Dm             F             Dm         Dm
“Oh Polly love, oh Polly, the rout has now begun,

    F               F     F       G             Dm
And we must go a-marching to the beating of the drum.

   F                  F       F           G           Dm
Go dress yourself all in your best and come along with me;

       Dm              F    Dm     Dm       Dm
I'll take you to the cruel war in High Germany.”

   Dm             F             Dm         Dm
“Oh Willy love, oh Willy, come list what I do say,

   F          F      F        G           Dm
My feet they are so tender, I cannot march away.

  F                      F      F              G    Dm
And besides, my dearest Willy, I am with child by thee,

       Dm             F   Dm     Dm       Dm
Not fitted for the cruel war in High Germany.”

  Dm                 F          Dm                      Dm
“I'll buy for you a horse, my love, and on it you shall ride

  F          F      F        G                Dm
And all my delight shall be a-riding by your side.

 F                      F      F             G     Dm
We'll stop at every alehouse and drink when we are dry,

     Dm           F           Dm     Dm       Dm
We'll be true to one another, get married by and by.”

 Dm                 F              Dm                 Dm
Oh, cursed be them cruel wars that ever they should rise

 F               F        F           G         Dm
And out of Merry England press many a man likewise.

 F                         F       F             G     Dm
They pressed my true love from me, likewise my brothers three,

    Dm               F       Dm     Dm       Dm
And sent them to the cruel wars in High Germany.

 Dm                       F           Dm            Dm
No, my friends I do not value nor my foes I do not fear,

 F               F        F       G        Dm
Now my love has left me I wander far and near.

F                       F          F       G     Dm
And when my baby it is born and a-smiling on my knee

Dm                    F    Dm      Dm   Dm
I'll think on lovely Willy in High Germany.

   Dm             F             Dm         Dm
“Oh Polly love, oh Polly, the rout has now begun,

    F               F     F       G             Dm
And we must go a-marching to the beating of the drum.

   F                  F       F           G           Dm
Go dress yourself all in your best and come along with me;

       Dm              F    Dm     Dm       Dm
I'll take you to the cruel war in High Germany.”