On Top Of Old Smokey - The Weavers

On top of Old Smokey, all covered with snow,

I lost my true lover for courting too slow.

For courting’s a pleasure but parting is grief,

And a false-hearted lover is worse than a thief.

A thief will just rob you and take what you have,

But a false-hearted lover will lead you to your grave.

The grave will decay you and turn you to dust,

Not one boy in a hundred a poor girl can trust.

They’ll hug you and kiss you and tell you more lies

Than crossties on a railroad or stars in the sky.

So come ye young maidens and listen to me:

Never place your affection in a green willow tree.

For the leaves they will wither, the roots they will die,

And you’ll be forsaken and never know why.

Už koníček pádí a zůstane stát,

až v tý zemi mládí, kde já žiju rád.

A slunce tam pálí a pořád je máj

a ceny jsou stálý a lidi se maj.