I came to this country
18 and 49
I thought myself lucky
For to be alive
I looked all around me
No one could I see
That I [bad word] with
My pretty Saree

I wish I was a poet
Could write in find hand
Would write my love a letter
One she'd long understand
I'd send it by the water
Where the islands overflow
And I'd think of pretty Saro wherever I go

'Tis not this long journey that grieves me for to go
Nor the country that I'm leaving
Nor the debts that I owe
There's one thing that grieves me and bears on my mind
That's leaving my darling pretty Saro behind