Mortlock (19 page)

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There was a crow sat on a tree,

And he was as black as black could be.

Now this old crow said to his mate,

‘Let us go and find something to eat.’

They flew across the wide, wild plain,

To where a farmer had sown some grain.

Up came the farmer with his gun,

And he shot them both, excepting one.

The one that escaped flew back to the tree,

And he said, ‘You old farmer, you can’t shoot me.’

‘Two Old Crows’, traditional folk song