Black is the color of my [bad word] love's hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair,
And sweetest smile to gentlest hands,
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 some [bad word] 
When she and I will be as one.

Black is the color of my [bad word] love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
The sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon she stands.

I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep,
But satisfied I never shall be.
I write her letters just a few short lines,
And suffer death a thousand times.

Black is the color of my [bad word] love's hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair,
The sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon she stands.