Oh, the praties they grow small over here, over here
Oh, the praties they grow small over here, over here
Oh, the praties they grow small, and we dig them in the fall
And we eat them, skin and all, over here, over here, over here.

Oh we wish that we were geese, night and morn, night and morn
Oh we wish that we were geese, night and morn, night and morn
Oh we wish that we were geese, and could live our lives in peace
Till the hour of our release, eating corn, eating corn, eating corn.

Oh, we’re down into the dust, over here, over here
Oh, we’re down into the dust, over here, over here
Oh, we’re down into the dust, but the Lord in whom we trust
Will repay us crumb for crust, over here, over here, over here.