The little ballad girl

Ho! little girl, so dressed with care!

With fairy slippers and golden hair!

What did I hear you calling so loud,

Down in that heartless, motley crowd?

Tis my father's song,

And he can't live long;

Every one knows that he wrote it;

For I've been down at the hotel door,

And all the gentlemen bought it.

Ho! Little girl, let me light my cigar!

Where are you going tonight so far?

What are you hiding under your arm?

If I burn a sheet, will it do any harm?

'Tis my father's song,

And he can't life long;

Every one knows that he wrote it,

For I've been down at the hotel door,

And all the gentlemen bought it.

Ho! little girl, what makes you cry?

Come, dry up the tears in that bright blue eye!

What's all this that is blowing around,

All cold and scattered strewn on the ground.

'Tis my father's song,

And he can't live long;

Every one knows that he wrote it,

For I've been down at the hotel door,

And all the gentlemen bought it.