It was in the month of january, the hills were clad in snow As over hills and valleys, my true love he did go It was there he spied a pretty fair maid, with a salt tear in her eye She had a baby in her arms, and bitter she did cry "Oh, cruel was my father to bar the door on me And cruel was my mother, this dreadful crime to see Cruel was my own true love to change his mind for gold Cruel was that winter's night that pierced my heart with cold" Oh, the taller that the palm tree grows, the sweeter is the bark And the fairer that a young man speaks, the falser is his heart He will kiss you and embrace you, 'till he thinks he has you won Then he'll go away and leave you all for some other one So come all you pretty fair maids, a warning take by me And never try to build your nest on top of any tree For the roots, they will all wither, and the branches all decay And the beauties of a false young man, must all soon fade away