Oh as I roved out one bright summer’s morn
Down by Blackwaterside
I’d be gazing on the flowers that did bloom all around
When a pretty Irish girl I spied
Oh ’twas red and rosy was her cheeks
Golden yellow was her hair
As I clasped her by the lily-white hand
And I said, “My young sweetheart fair”
There be many a good man’s daughter
Going around from town to town
There be many a good man’s daughter with
Her hair all hanging down
They’ll be rocking the cradles the whole day long
Singing, “Low-la, low-la, low”
Was there ever a poor misfortunate girl
Was as easily led as you?
Oh that wasn’t the promise that you made to me
Down by Blackwaterside
That wasn’t the promise that you made to me
When you asked me to be your bride
That wasn’t the promise that you made to me
When you swore you’d be loyal and true
When the fishes fly and the seas run dry
I’ll return and I’ll marry you
