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Black is the colour of my true love's hair. |
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Her lips are like a rose so fair. |
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She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands. |
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I love the ground whereon she stands. |
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I love my love and well she knows. |
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I love the ground whereon she goes. |
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And how I whish the day would come |
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when she and I can be as one. |
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Black is the colour of my true love's hair. |
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Her lips are like a rose so fair. |
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She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands. |
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I love the ground whereon she stands. |
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ou whereon she stands. |
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ou whereon she stands. |
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ou whereon she stands. |
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ou whereon she stands. |
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ou whereon she stands. |
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ou whereon she stands. |
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I go to the Clyde and mourn and deep |
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satisfied I never will sleep. |
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I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines |
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And suffer death ten thousand times. |
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Black is the colour of my true love's hair. |
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Her lips are like a rose so fair. |
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She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands. |
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I love the ground whereon she stands. |
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I love the ground whereon she stands. |
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I love the ground whereon she stands. |
