I am a poor girl,
What can I bring?
I live amongst refuse,
Nothing here for a King!
My home is rusted iron,
Tied with string and wire,
Dad found some bricks
We use for a fire.
Smoke fills the shack,
It stings my young eves,
He cut a smoke hole,
But it lets in the flies.
I am a poor girl,
What can I bring?
I have no gift
Fit for the King!
My feet have no shoes,
Socks I've never seen,
My dress is so grubby,
How can I make it clean?
I scrounge for glass bottles
And aluminium cans,
I sell them each day
To the recycle man.
On a good day I'll buy
Maybe a little bread,
But on a bad day,
Then I'll be hungry in my bed.
A feast is a dream,
A pleasure I've not felt,
Another thing not done
Is to let out my belt.
I am a poor girl,
What can I bring?
What gift have I
That's fit for a King?
Then I remember
The King had no home,
No Palace or court,
No place of his own.
No cradle for this babe,
Just a trough of hay.
And he had no larder,
Living from day to day.
No stockpile of food,
But blessed a small gift,
Brought by a poor boy,
Just bread and fish.
So I rejoice,
I have my tin shed,
And tucked in the corner,
A cardboard bed.
I am a poor girl,
What can I bring?
I have just one gift,
To bring to the King.
I will lift my voice,
I will praise the King,
His glory and praise
Are the words I'll sing.