On Top Of Old Smokey
On top of Old Smokey,
All covered with snow,
I lost my true lover,
For courting too slow.
For courting's a pleasure,
But parting is grief,
And a false-hearted lover,
Is worse than a thief.
A thief will just rob you,
And take what you have,
But a false-hearted lover,
Will lead you to your grave.
The grave will decay you,
And turn you to dust,
Not one boy in a hundred
A poor girl can trust.
They'll hug you and kiss you,
And tell you more lies,
Than crossties on a railroad,
Or stars in the sky.
So come ye young maidens,
And listen to me,
Never place your affection
In a green willow tree.
For the leaves they will wither,
The roots they will die,
And you'll be forsaken,
And never know why.
