Oh, the praties they grow small,
Over here, over here,
Oh, the praties they grow small,
And we dig them in the Fall,
And we eat them coats and all,
Over here, over here.

Oh, I wish that we were geese,
Night and morn, night and morn,
Oh, I wish that we were geese,
And we fly and take our ease,
And we'd live and die in peace,
Eating corn, eating corn.

Oh, we're trampled in the dust,
Over here, over here,
Oh, we're trampled in the dust,
But the Lord in whom we trust,
He will give us crumb for crust,
Over here, over here.

Oh, the praties they grow small,
Over here, over here,
Oh, the praties they grow small,
And we dig them in the Fall,
And we eat them coats and all,
Over here, over here, over here.