Sing Winchester

Hush little baby, don’t you cry
You know your mama was born to die

All my trials, Lord, soon be over

The river of Jordan is muddy and cold
Well it chills the body but not the soul

I’ve got a little book with pages three
And every page spells liberty

If living were a thing that money could buy
Then the rich would live and the poor would die

There grows a tree in Paradise
And the pilgrims call it the Tree of Life