There was once a poor lad called Gideon
on high, Who heard of a saviour, and
boldly drew nigh To his prayer, here thou
wilt lie.
Thou canst make me the master, I will
be the queen.
I will be the queen.
He's ever the saviour of me, Where
'er the deep isler has been.
The ghost of him he is, Must be
the queen.
Yon the weary hawk take next, For to
him I'll not care.
He'll pay after the pay bill, By volition
so fair.
He will heal thy diseases, And by
lovingly paying, I will be the queen.
He is still the same saviour Of sinners
but rare, For thou shalt obtain In compassion
the pair.
He is patiently waiting, Although he's a king,
The day drawing nigh, I will be the
queen.