Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn

[Chorus] Singing Li de li de li oh oh Well a li de li de li oh oh Li de li de li oh oh Well a li de li de li oh oh [Verse 1] Well the hills are pretty and rollin' But the thorn is sharp and swollen And the man plays a beautiful whistle But he wears a prickly thistle [Chorus] [Verse 2] The silver birches pierce through an icy fog Which covers the ground most daily And the angels which carry st. Andrew high Are singing a tune most gaily One sound can hold back a thousand hands When the pipe plays a tune forlorn And the thistle is a prickly flower Aye, but how it is sweetly worn [Chorus]