Don't fret, sweet neighbour, don't get snide
if we transgress your border;
us loony crones from the green hillside
don't care for law & order.

We grow our weeds, we sow our seeds
and flourish bright & gaudy;
we smoke our weeds, we munch our seeds,
our laughter's loud & bawdy.

We sing & play by night & day,
we lurk in murky copses,
we dance away the roundelay,
we'd love to blow your topses.

Guard well your menfolk, sisters dear,
from Grandpa to the tenderest swain-sprout;
should any of them venture near,
we'll fuck his little brains out.

The reed-pipe drones in twilight zones
and makes you feel queerly restless;
the loony crones will rattle your bones,
leaving you hot & breathless.

So count your blessings, count your kills
on either side of your border;
us loony crones from the blazing hills
don't give a shit for law & order.