In Harold's time the hunt was fine and the birds did sweetly sing
Then the bastard came and all the game became the right of the king
But English lads saw sport to be had and swift to poaching turned
And so in that way have we even today our pleasant supper earned

One for the partridge, two for the hare, and three for the buck and doe
The hunting of the good king's game shall feed us through the snow

One for the partridge, two for the hare, and three for the buck and doe
The hunting of the good king's game shall feed us through the snow

Seeking deer or hare in the greenwoods fair, the King's own men do ride
But we Saxons few are a-hunting too, though cleverly we hide
Time and again come the sheriff's men chasing poachers round the shire
But our prey we've shot and we'll not get caught as we feast around our fire

One for the partridge, two for the hare, and three for the buck and doe
The hunting of the good kings game shall feed us through the snow

One for the partridge, two for the hare, and three for the buck and doe
The hunting of the good king's game shall feed us through the snow

Many say that port is the finest sport, that poaching's far too cold
And they pass the year drinking fine dark beer or else some whiskey bold
But they'll find that wine is the thief of time and ale is a bitter foe
And the English man has no better friends than his arrows and his bow
One for the partridge, two for the hare, and three for the buck and doe
The hunting of the good king's game shall feed us through the snow

One for the partridge, two for the hare, and three for the buck and doe
The hunting of the good king's game shall feed us through the snow