The Cuckoo she’s a pretty bird, she sings as she flies,
She brings us glad tidings and she tells us no lies.
She sucks all the pretty flowers that make her voice clear,
And she never says “Cuckoo” till the spring of the year.
A-walkin’ and a-talkin’ and a-wanderin’ goes I,
A-waitin’ for sweet Willie, he will come by and by;
I’ll meet him in the morning, for he’s all my delight,
I could walk and talk with him from morning till night.
Our meetin’s a pleasure, our partin’s a grief,
A false-hearted lover is worse as a thief;
A thief will but rob you, and take all you got,
While a false-hearted lover will lead you to the grave.
The grave will consume you and turn you to dust,
They ain’t one in a hundred that a poor gal can trust;
They’ll hug thee and kiss thee and call thee their own -
Perhaps their other dearlin’ is a-waitin’ at home.
Come, all ye fair damsels, take warnin’ of me,
Ne’er place your affections on a green-growin’ tree;
The leaves they will wither, the roots they will die -
If I am forsaken I know right well why.
If I am forsaken I will not be forsworn,
And he’s fully mistaken if he thinks I will mourn;
For I’ll get myself up in some right high degree,
And I’ll walk as light by him as he can by me ...