Rock A-bye baby,

In the tree-top,

When the wind blows,

The cradle will rock.

When the bough breaks,

The cradle will fall,

Down will come baby,

Cradle and all.


Rock A-bye baby,

Within the knife blades,

When the wind blows,

They will amputate.

When the knives fall,

There is blood and gore,

Down will come baby,

Forever more.