My bonnie lass she smelleth,
Making the flowers jealouth.
Fa la la (etc.)
My bonnie lass dismayeth
Me; all that she doth say ith:
Fa la la (etc.)

My bonnie lass she looketh like a jewel
And soundeth like a mule.
My bonnie lass she walketh like a doe
And talketh like a crow.
Fa la la (etc.)

My bonnie lass liketh to dance a lot;
Shes Guinevere and Im Sir Lancelot.
Fa la la (etc.)

My bonnie lass I need not flatter;
What she doth not have doth not matter.
Oo la la (etc.)

My bonnie lass would be nice,
Yea, even at twice the price.
Fa la la (etc.)

~P.D.Q. Bach, "My Bonnie Lass She Smelleth"