Bye-baby-bunting
BYE-BABY-BUNTING,
The Indians live by hunting,
And bring home many a beaver-skin
To wrap the little pappoose in.
And mother-squaw the baby'll tie
Fast on a board, and swinging high,
Will hang it up among the trees
To rock-a-bye with every breeze;
But our dear baby, snug and warm,
Shall rock-a-bye on mother's arm.