Black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like a rose so fair.
She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands.
I love my love and well she knows.
I love the ground whereon she goes.
And how I wish the day would come,
when she and I can be as one.
Black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like a rose so fair.
She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands.
Oh...whereon she stands..Oh...whereon she stands...
Oh...whereon she stands...
Oh...whereon she stands...
Oh...whereon she stands...
I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep
For satisfied I never will sleep.
I 'll write her a letter,
just a few short lines,
And suffer death ten thousand times.
Black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like a rose so fair.
She's got the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands.
I love the ground whereon she stands.
I love the ground...