| Black is the colour of my true love’s hair
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| His lips are like some roses fair
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| He’s the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
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| And I love the ground whereon he stands
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| I love my love and well he knows
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| I love the ground where on he goes
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| How I wish the time would soon come
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| When he and I can be as one
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| I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep
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| for satisfied I’d never sleep
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| I write him a letter, just a few short lines
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| And I suffer death ten thousand times
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| Black is the colour of my true love’s hair
|
| His lips are like some roses fair
|
| He’s the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
|
| And I love the ground whereon he stands
|
| I love the ground whereon he stands
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| I love, I love, I love the ground where on he stands |