In every war,
soldiers go off to battle,
and songs express how the women at home
live in dread and hope.
Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill.
Who could blame me?
Crime I feel.
And every tear would turn a mill.
Johnny has gone for a sol dier,
surely, surely, surely, too, surely,
Sakuraga, bibbidi -bobbidi -boo.
If I should die for Sally Bubbly,
come, bibbidi -bobbidi -boo,
sorrow wrong.
I'd sell my clock, I'd sell my reel,
Likewise, I'd sell my spinning wheel,
To buy, my love, a sword of steel.
Johnny has gone for a sol dier,
surely, surely, surely, too.
Surely, Sakuraka, bibbidi -bobbidi -boo.
If I should die for Sally Bubbly,
come, bibbidi -bobbidi -boo, Sarora.