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