The fruit hangs ripe, the fruit hangs sweet,
High and low in my Orchard Street,
Apples and pears, cherries and plums,
Something for everyone who comes.
If you're a Pedlar
I'll give you a medlar;
If you're a Prince
I'll give you a quince;
If you're a Queen,
A nectarine;
If you're the King
Take anything,
Apricots, mulberries, melons or red and white
Currants like rubies and pearls on a string!
Little girls each
Shall have a peach,
Boys shall have grapes that hang just out of reach--
Nothing's to pay, whatever you eat
Of the fruit that grows in my Orchard Street.
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"USEFL. hlp. ckng. no wshg. fam. 2."
_Morning Paper._
Th. is rl. wd. plp. ecnmy.
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