Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, Whereon she stands.

I love my love and well he knows,
I love the ground, whereon he goes,
I wish the day soon would come,
When he and I will be as one.

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,
For satisfied, I never can be,
I write her a letter, just a few short lines,
And suffer death, a thousand times.

(Guitar)

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, Whereon she stands.
Black is the colour of my true love's hair,