Old King Cole

Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three
And every fiddler had a fine fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he
Oh there’s none so rare, as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three!

Old Queen Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was she
She called for her horse, and she called for her foal
And she called for her trumpeters three
And every trumpeter had a fine trumpet,
And a very fine trumpet had she
Oh there’s none so rare, as can compare
With Queen Cole and her trumpeters three!

Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three
And every fiddler had a fine fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he
Oh there’s none so rare, as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three!

Oh there’s none so rare, as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three!