Sad about her winsome glance Leave a trial of dusted boots Then go kiss me here or kick me there And lovers won't be friends
And Sally let her hair hang low Well must be someone's son They should have thought some more
Sally saw the boy come near Breathing hard and cockle proud And Sally's heart was won Not a boy she knew at first All whispered through her ready lips I'll be the best I've been
And it's forty's fingers in her face Grubby mitts, saving grace Hope to live, or wait to die
Chervil gloves and half cocked eyes Bring nature to their deviled lives Winsome missus wantoning lads Aging in their passing fads Leave a trial of dusted boots Then go kiss me here or kick me there And lovers might be friends