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Song: | The Rigs of Rye |
Album: | Apples | Genres: | Jazz |
Year: | 2007 |
Length: | 350 sec |
Lyrics:
'Twas in the month of sweet July,
Before the sun had pierced the sky;
Down between two rigs of rye
I heard two lovers talking.
Said he, 'Lassie, I must away,
Along with you I cannot stay,
But I've a word or two to say
If you've the time to listen.'
'Of your father he takes great care,
Your mother combs your yellow hair;
But your sisters say you'll get no share
If you follow me, a stranger.'
'My father may fret and my mother may frown,
My sisters too I do disown;
If they were all dead and below the ground
I would follow you, a stranger.'
'Oh lassie, lassie, your portion's small,
Perhaps it may be none at all.
You're not a match for me at all
So go and wed with some other.'
The lassie's courage began to fail,
Her rosy cheeks grew wan and pale;
And the tears come trickling down like hail,
Or a heavy shower in the summer.
This lad he being of courage fine,
He's dried her tears and he's kissed her eyes,
Saying, 'Weep no more lass, you shall be mine,
I said it all to try you.'
This couple they are married now,
And they have bairnies one and two;
And they live in Brechin the winter through,
Aye, and in Montrose in summer.
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