Title: Folk & Traditional Song Lyrics - The Hag

Folk & Traditional Song Lyrics www.traditionalmusic.co.uk The Hag 
The Hag (CLeveland) 
If you will be still, Then tell you I will Of a fusty old Gill, That dwells under a Hill: She is a right Sae, Well worn with Age, And a Visage will swage A stout Man's Courage. 
She has a beetle Brow, Deep Furrows enow, She's Ey'd like a Sow, Flat nos'd like a Cow: She has a Devilish Grin, Long Hairs on her Chin, She's nearly a-kin To the foul fotted Fiend. 
Teeth yellow as Box, Half out with the Pox, Her Breath sweet as Socks, Or the Scent of a Fox: Lips swarthy and Dun, With a Mouth like a Gun, And her Twattle does run, And swift as the Sun. 
Hair lousie with Nits, She stinksn i'th' Arm-pits, She'll still hauks and spits, And hems up great Bits: She has long unpar'd Nails, Hands cover'd with Scales, She's still full of Ails, And to stink never fails. 
Her back has a Hill, You may plant a Wind-mill, And the Farts of this Gill, Would the Sails well trill: I've taken my fill, 
Of the fusty old Gill, Which she took so ill, That I laid down my Quill. 
WBO Apr98