'Twas a lovely summer evening when we wandered, he and I
With the bull-frogs and the nightingales in song
His glances were so loving I could not repress a sigh
As I softly murmured, 'Now we shan't be long'
He whispered, 'Youth's the time for love, we'll pass the happy hours
Where the moon is gently beaming all amongst the pretty flowers.'

Chorus: So he led me up the garden all among the Brussel sprouts
He told me that he loved me, but I somehow had my doubts
He took my hand in his, and at first I thought it 'biz'
For he said I was his little Dolly Varden
He touched me with the story of his love for me, he did
And he touched my lips in kisses, and his arms around me slid
And before he said 'Good-bye' to me he touched me for a quid
Oh! there's no mistake, he led me up the garden.

We talked about all sorts of things, that lovely summer eve
And my heart was going out to him, I knew
He had lots of cash invested, so he asked me to believe
Though the dividends, like the flowers, were over dew
We walked until my heart, just like my feet, was full of pain
Then he leaned towards me whispering, 'Shall we wander on again.'

Chorus: So he led me up the garden all among the turnip-tops
He said I was his only love, his little popsy-wops
I kept my eyes downcast, but I was thawing fast
Though I tried my little virgin heart to harden
He took my hand and sqeezed it to my maidenly alarm
When he sqeezed my waist so slender I could not resist his charm
And he squeezed me for the bangle that I wore upon my arm
Oh! there's no mistake, he led me up the garden.

The stars were brightly shining but the moon was on the wane
Still we lingered like a pair of wooing doves
I missed my bit of supper, for he wanted once again
Just to interchange the story of our loves
I'd started out at six o' clock, now ten began to chime
Dead beat, I still consented, for the third and final time.

Chorus: And he led me up the garden all among the curly-kale
It made me feel so happy just to hear him tell the tale
He stayed till it was late, breathing nothings at the gate
Then he had to go, for which he asked my pardon
I missed him, Oh! I missed him, and of hope I felt bereft
He stole my young affections, which was not his only theft
Then he left me - that was pretty nearly all the bounder left
Oh! there's no mistake, he led me up the garden.
Written and composed by E.A. Searson & Fred Gibson - 1929
Performed by Edith Faulkner
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