The Cuckoo is a Pretty Bird

The cuckoo she’s a pretty bird,
She sings as she flies,
She brings us glad tidings,
And tells us no lies.
She sucks on pretty flowers,
To make her voice clear,
She never sings cuckoo,
Till spring of the year.

She flies the hills over,
She flies up above,
She flies back to the mountain,
And mourns for her love.
Jack of diamonds, Jack of diamonds,
I’ve known you of old,
You robbed my poor pockets,
Of my silver and gold.