Rock a bye baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

I saw it and I had to rub my eyes,

perhaps I'd smoked a little too much pot?

But I could hear the little feller's cries,

up in the tree - a baby in a cot!

I wondered how the hell he got up there,

perhaps they threw him from a crashing plane?

Or maybe he was carried by a bear?

I scratched my head but couldn't quite explain.

So now the wind's decided it will blow,

but I can't reach the kid, he's way too high,

and look at that bough rocking to and fro,

I can't stand back and watch a baby die.

I'll stay right here, I don't care what it takes,

he'll need someone to catch him when it breaks.