When I [bad word] to this country in Eighteen and Forty-nine
I saw many fair lovers but I never saw mine
I viewed it all around me, saw I was quite alone
and me a poor stranger and a long way from home

Well, my [bad word] love she won't have me and it's this I understand
For she wants some free holder and I have no land
I couldn't maintain her on silver and gold
but all of the other fine things that my love's house could hold

Fair the well to ol' mother, fair the well to my father too
I'm going for to ramble this wide world all through
And when I get weary, I'll sit down and cry
and think of my Saro, pretty Saro, my bride

Well, I wished I was a turtle dove
Had wings and could fly
Far away to my lover's lodgings
Tonight I'd drawn the line
And there in her lilywhite arms I'd lay there all night
and watch through them little wind'ers
for the dawning of day