Come​ ​all​ ​you​ ​young​ ​fellows
That​ ​carry​ ​a​ ​gun
I’ll​ ​have​ ​you​ ​come​ ​home
By​ ​the​ ​light​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sun

For​ ​Jimmy​ ​was​ ​hunting
And​ ​hunting​ ​alone
When​ ​he​ ​shot​ ​his​ ​true​ ​love
In​ ​the​ ​room​ ​of​ ​a​ ​swan

Polly​ ​went​ ​out​ ​in​ ​a​ ​shower​ ​of​ ​hail
She​ ​crept​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bushes
Herself​ ​to​ ​conceal
With​ ​her​ ​apron​ ​pulled​ ​o'er​ ​her
He​ ​took​ ​her​ ​for​ ​a​ ​swan
He​ ​aimed,​ ​he​ ​fired
And​ ​killed​ ​his​ ​Polly​ ​Vaughn

Then​ ​home​ ​rushed​ ​young​ ​Jimmy
His​ ​dog,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​gun
Crying,​ ​"Uncle,​ ​dear​ ​Uncle
Oh,​ ​what​ ​have​ ​I​ ​done?
Oh,​ ​cursed​ ​be​ ​the​ ​gunsmith
That​ ​made​ ​my​ ​old​ ​gun
For​ ​I​ ​shot​ ​my​ ​true​ ​love
In​ ​the​ ​room​ ​of​ ​a​ ​swan!"