Down the Hills in a valley lives a lady young and fair
 And of such a beauty with nothing [bad word]  She owns wind in golden hair and morning in her smile
 And every time I see her, she makes my heart beguiled

 [bad word] 
 So, won't [bad word]  dance with me? The child inside believes in fairies.
 With that dress, like a queen, with those lips stolen cherries
 With your face, sleeping grace, I don't need drink to drown the sorrow.
 Won't [bad word]  dance with me? Take me home to new tomorrow

 I hope the day is near, I will wear my smart clothes
 Walking firm and proud ripping thorns of white rose
 To court the hand of lady that sorely won my heart
 Creating new tomorrow, we'll never be apart.