Letra de 'Matty Groves (feat. Alina Hardin)' de Alela Diane

A holiday, a holiday
The first one of the year
Lord Arland's wife came into the church
The gospel for to hear

And when the meeting it was done
She cast her eyes about
And there she saw little Matty Groves
Walking in the crowd

Come home with me, little Matty Groves
Come home with me tonight
Come home with me, little Matty Groves
And sleep with me till light

Oh, I can't come home, I won't come home
Sleep with you tonight
By the rings on your fingers I can tell
You are my master's wife

Well, if I am Lord Arland's wife
Lord Arland's not at home
He is out in the far cornfields
Bringing the yearlings home

And a servant who was standing by
And hearing what was said
He swore Lord Arland he would know
Before the Sun would set

And in his hurry to carry the news
He bent his breast and ran
And when he came to the broad millstream
He took off his shoes and swam

Matty Groves, he lay down
And took a little sleep
When he awoke, Lord Arland
Was standing at his feet

Saying, how do you like my feather bed
How do you like my sheets
How do you like my lady
Who lies in your arms asleep?

Oh, well I like your feather bed
And well I like your sheets
But better I like your lady gay
Who lies in my arms asleep

Well, get up, get up, Lord Arland cried
Get up as quick as you can
It'll never be said in fair England
That I slew a naked man

Well, I can't get up, I won't get up
I can't get up for my life
For you have two long beaten swords
And I not a pocket knife

Well, it's true I have two beaten swords
And they cost me deep in the purse
But you will have the better of them
And I will have the worse

And you will strike the very first blow
And strike it like a man
And I will strike the very next blow
And I'll kill you if I can

So Matty struck the very first blow
And he hurt Lord Arland sore
Lord Arland struck the very next blow
And Matty struck no more

And then Lord Arland took his wife
And sat her on his knee
Saying, who do you like the best of us
Matty Groves or me?

And then up spoke his own dear wife
Never heard to speak so free
I'd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips
Than you or your finery

Lord Arland he jumped up
And loudly he did bawl
He struck his wife right through the heart
And pinned her against the wall

A grave, a grave, Lord Arland cried
To put these lovers in
But bury my lady at the top
She was of noble kin