Oh, the first is the miller, lived down by the mill,
For the want of a water, his stones they lay still.
Up steps the fair damsel and sees him in want.
She run his old stones through the sluice of her c***.
Oh, it's this way and that way and do what you will.
For I'm sure I've said nothing that you can take ill.
So don't be offended, as long as I don't,
For the women all let the men feel of their c***.
Next is the fisherman, down by the brook,
For all that he lacks is a line for his hook.
Up steps this fair damsel and sees him in want,
She spun him a line from the hair on her c***.
Next is the barber, a-shaving a man,
Up steps this fair damsel, says, "Shave me if you can."
The answer he gave her: "My razor is blunt."
She told him to sharpen it on the rim of her c***.