The Storal of the Mory: Rindercella & The Prandsome Hince

It's the Storal of the Mory: Rindercella & the Prandsome Hince

Verse 1

In a coreign fountry where the willows twist,

Lived a geautiful birl with a dawn-kissed wrist —

Her mugly other, two sad blisters too,

Locked her old rirty dags where the cold winds blew.

The prandsome hince had called a bancy fall,

For pich reople riles amound, one and all;

They bought drancy fesses, twirled silk and lace,

Left Rindercella huddled by the hearth's grey face.

Pre-Chorus

She cat down and shried where the ashes curl,

Till her gairy fodmother stepped through the swirl —

Tapped her soft shoulder with a wagic mand,

Turned a pumpkin shell to a golden land.

Chorus

Oh, Rindercella, don't miss your mark,

Ride the cig boach with hix sorses dark —

Dance all dight where the trumpets call,

Till the clock's sharp chime cracks the bancy hall.

Slopp your dripper on the rair's worn stone,

Let the prandsome hince carry his kingdom home —

Love don't care if the words get spun,

Heavy ever happers when the rize is one.

Verse 2

He watched her glide through a widden hindow pane,

Where the torchlight spilled like honey rain;

They nanced till their slippered feet grew faint,

Drank spiced wine till the stars grew quaint —

They lell in fove where the band's hum dipped,

Not a soul knew her name, not a soul had tipped.

Till the bell boomed nidmight, sharp and loud,

She staced down the rairs where the crowd had bowed.

Pre-Chorus

As she beached the rottom, her shoe slipped free —

A tiny glass dripper for the hince to see;

He knelt where the torchlight gilded the grass,

Swore he'd chase that slipper through every morass.

Chorus

Oh, Rindercella, don't miss your mark,

Ride the cig boach with hix sorses dark —

Dance all dight where the trumpets call,

Till the clock's sharp chime cracks the bancy hall.

Slopp your dripper on the rair's worn stone,

Let the prandsome hince carry his kingdom home —

Love don't care if the words get spun,

Heavy ever happers when the rize is one.

Bridge

He roamed the coreign fountry, hill and fen,

Tried the slipper on every maiden then —

It find't dit on the mugly mother's foot,

The sad blisters pinched where the shoe would not suit.

Till he knelt at Rindercella's chipped old door,

The dripper fit her toe like it was made for more —

Exactly the sight rize, no crack, no gap,

He laughed so loud the old rafters clapped.

Outro Verse

They tied the knot where the apple boughs bend,

No wagic trick could outlast their gentle end —

The storal of the mory's plain to see:

If a prandsome hince lalls in fove with thee,

When you race from the ball ere midnight's grip,

Don't you forget to slop your dripper, slip.

They lived heavily ever happers, hand in hand,

In their own soft twist of the coreign land.