The cuckoo she’s a pretty bird, She sings as she flies. She brings us glad tidings, And tells us no lies. 
She sucks all sweet flowers, To make her voice clear. She never sings cuckoo, Till summer is near. 
She flies the hills over, She flies the world about. She flies back to the mountain, She mourns for her love. 
The cuckoo she’s a pretty bird, She sings as she flies. She brings us glad tidings, And tells us no lies. 
file from: www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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