O the chaps of Cocaigny they are stout roving blades
And when they get in company with the sweet pretty maids
They will kiss them and court them and swear they'll be true
And the very next moment they will go and leave you
Cocaigny is a fine town, it shines where it stands
And the more I think upon it the more my heart burns
If I was at Cocaigny I should think myself at home
For there we get sweethearts but here we get none
His eyes are black as Cocaigny's black coal
Which through my poor bosom has burned a big hole
They will kiss you and court you and tell you as many lies
As the hairs upon your head, my love, or the stars in the skies
