D Well the hills are pretty and rollin' F G D But the thorn is sharp and swollen D And the man plays a beautiful whistle F G D But he wears a prickly thistle D Singing Li De Li De Li Oh Oh F G D Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh D Li De Li De Li Oh Oh F G D Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh D The silver birches pierce through an icy fog F G D Which covers the ground most daily D And the angels which carry St. Andrew high F G D Are singing a tune most gaily One sound can hold back a thousand hands When the pipe plays a tune forlorn And the thistle is a prickly flower Aye, But how it is sweetly worn Singing Li De Li De Li Oh Oh Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh Li De Li De Li Oh Oh Well A Li De Li De Li Oh Oh | TransposeReset Font sizeReset Chords fingeringsD F G |