I married me a wife in the month of June,
Risselty-rosselty now, now, now !
I carried her home in a silver spoon,
Risselty-rosselty, hey bom-bosselty,
Nicklety, knacklety, rustical quality,
Willaby-wallaby now, now, now !
She swept the floor but once a year
She swore her brooms were all too dear
She combed her hair but once a year
At every rake she shed a tear
She churned the butter in dad's old boot
And for a dash she used her foot
The butter came out a grisly grey
The cheese took legs and ran away
The butter and cheese are on the shelf
If you want any more, you can sing it yourself
Note: an American version of The Wife Wrapt in a Wether's Skin
that managed to lose the story.
Recorded by Seeger