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The lark in the morning she arises from her nest And she ascends all in the air with the dew upon her breast And with the pretty ploughboy she'll whistle and she'll sing And at night she'll return to her own nest again |
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When his day's work is over, oh what then will he do Perhaps then into some country wake he'll go And with his pretty sweetheart, he'll dance and he'll sing And at night he'll return with his love back again |
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And as they returned from the wake unto the town The meadows they are mowed and the grass it is cut down The nightingale she whistles upon the hawthorn spray And the moon it is a shining upon the new mown hay |
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Good luck unto the ploughboys wherever they may be They will take a winsome lass for to sit upon their knee And with a jug of beer boys, they'll whistle and they'll sing And the ploughboy is as happy as a prince or a king |
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