On The Banks of Red Roses - Alasdair Roberts

When I was a wee thing, I heard my mother say

That I was a rambler, and easy led astray.

Before that I would work, I would rather sport and play

With my Johnny on the banks for red roses.

On the banks of red roses, my love and I sat down.

He took out his tuning books to play his love a tune.

In the middle of the tune, his love got up and cried,

Saying, «Johnny, Johnny, will you go on and leave me.»

And they walked, and they talked, till they came up to a cave,

Where the night before, her Johnny, he’d been digging at her grave.

Where the night before, her Johnny, he’d been digging at her grave.

On the bonny, bonny banks of red roses.

«Oh Johnny, dearest Johnny, that grave’s not meant for me.»

«Oh yes, my dearest Molly, that your bridal bed shall be.

Oh yes, my dearest Molly, that your bridal bed shall be.»

And he’s laid her down low on red roses.

That night while walking home, his heart was full of fear,

And everyone he met, he thought it was his dear.

And everyone he met, he thought it was his dear

He had slain on the banks of red roses.