Black is the colour of my [bad word] love's hair
Her lips are like some roses so fair
She has the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love, and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I wish the day soon [bad word] When she and I will be as one

I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep
But satisfied I never shall bees
and suffer death a thousand times
Black is the colour of my [bad word] love's hair
I'll write her a letter just a few short lin
Her lips are like some roses so fair
She has the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands