There’s farmers and there s farmers,
There s many a field and field,
But none of the farmers round about
Can haul such harvest-wagons out
As I from an acre s yield.

There’s plenty and plenty of farmers
That leave the ground by the fence,
Thinking it s nice if a patch of roses
Should scratch out the hay and tickle their noses
With nice little wild-rose scents.

I’m not like other farmers,
I make my farming pay;
I never go in for sentiment,
And seeing that roses yield no rent
I cut the stuff away.

A very good thing for farmers
If they would learn my way;
For crops are all that a good field grows,
And nothing is worse than a sniff of rose
In the good strong smell of hay.