Black is the color of my [bad word] love's hair
Her lips are like a rose so fair
She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands

I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes.
And how I wish the day [bad word] When she and I can be as one

I'll go to the Clyde and mourn and weep
Satisfied I never sleep
I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death ten thousand times