Well black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rose, so fair,
She has the sweetest face she has the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon he stands.
I love my love and well she knows,
I love the ground whereon she goes,
And how I wish the day would come
When she and I shall be as one
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep,
But satisfied I never can be
Well I write you a letter, just a few short lines,
I'll suffer death a thousand times.
Yes black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like some rose, so fair,
She has the sweetest face and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon she stands.
