Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She's 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, it soon would come,
Where her & I could be as one.


For black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,
And I love the ground, Whereon she stands.


I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,
For satisfied, I ne'er can sleep,
So I write her a letter,
just a few short lines,
And I suffer death, a thousand times.


For Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,
And I love the ground, whereon she stands.

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,
And I love the ground, whereon she stands.


And I love the ground, whereon she stands