To the har-vest at morn,
Off I went gla-ning corn,
And I'm wea-ry, oh so wea-ry,
wea-ry tired and worn.
If you can't tell me what "wea-ry" means,
then I'll tell you.

Full of corn was my sack,
What a load on my back;
And my back was weary, weary,
It was like to crack,
I you can't tell me how backs may crack,
Then I'll tell you

Then I winnow'd the corn
I had gather'd at morn,
I was weary, oh so weary
Weary and forlorn
If you can't tell me what that is like
Then I'll tell you

The my corn I did stew;
Left it there for to brew
I was weary, how I did it,
That I hardly knew.
If you can't tell my such weariness,
Then I'll tell you

When my brew was begun,
And the day nearly done,
I was weary, oh so weary,
Not a step could run,
If you can't tell me so sad a tale,
Then I'll tell you.

When my man reached the door,
Oh I scolded him sore;
I was cross and I was weary,
Cross as ne'er before,
If you can't tell me how cross I was,
Then I'll tell you.

What a fool of a man!
So again I began,
Though my tongue ran on
I never minded how it ran,
If you can't tell how my tongue ran on,
Then I'll tell you

And so on did it go,
Angry words to and fro,
I was cross, my man I'd never
Never scolded so;
If you don't know how to scold your man
Then I'll tell you