Take her to the river, call her a river child.
Take her to the forest, call her a little wild.
Sell her to the gypsy for a jar of metal coins.
Take her to the mountain
and [bad word] yourself into her loins.

Calico, Calico, Calico, for her lips are white as snow.

She moved to the mountains,
with a box of chisels sharp.
She moved to the highlands,
with a box of books so dark.

I knew her, in the city,
She and I would dance the night,
drink the wine of dripping berries,
toast the moon and count the lights.

Calico, Calico, Calico, for her skin is soft as snow

Take her to the river, call her a river child
Take her, to the forest, call her a little wild.