Текст песни The White Stripes - Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn
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Singing li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
Li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
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.
Singing li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
Li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
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.
Singing li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
Li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
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.
Singing li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
Li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
Li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
Li de li de li, oh oh.
Well a li de li de li, oh.
lyrics The White Stripes - Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn текст песни <--
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