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Traditional |
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Oh she was a lass from the low country |
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And he was a lord of high degree |
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But she loved him oh so tenderly |
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Oh sorrow sing sorrow |
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Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod |
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No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god |
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One day when the snow was on the mead |
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She passed him by on a milk white steed |
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And she spoke to him low nobody paid no need |
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Oh sorrow sing sorrow |
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Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod |
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No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god |
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Now if you be a lass from the low country |
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Don't love no man of high degree |
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For he don't got a heart or no sympathy |
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Oh sorrow sing sorrow |
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Now she sleeps in the valley where wild flowers nod |
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No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god |
