Gold In The Hills

Humour Intended: At her stall she stands Selling cut flowers Roses and sweet daffodils. Fifty pence per bloom Or eighty pence per bunch Cos there's gold in them there 'ills. Knitting wool she sells At sixty pence per ball And pretty silk petticoats with frills I'm making a fortune, she said yesterday. Cos there's gold in them there 'ills. Some people pass on As she's selling her wares But her goods are top of the range. Though there are some kind folk Who hand her a coin And call out 'please keep the change'. When blossoms start wilting They're reduced in price... Those roses and sweet daffodils! Thirty pence per bloom Or sixty pence per bunch. Cos there's gold in them there 'ills.