The Cuckoo

The Cuckoo

The cuckoo is a bonny bird,
She sings as she flies
She brings us glad tidings,
She tells us no lies,
She sips the sweet flowers,
To make her voice clear,
And she always sings “cuckoo”
When summer is near.

Our meetings are pleasure,
Our partings are grief,
But a false-hearted young man
Is worse than a thief,
For a thief can but rob you
And take all you have,
But a false-hearted young man
Will bring you to the grave.

The grave it will rot you
And bring you to dust.
A false-hearted young man
No maiden can trust.
They will kiss you and court you,
Fair maids, to deceive,
And there’s not one in twenty
That you can believe.

Oh, I can love little
Or I can love long,
I can love a new sweetheart
When the old one is gone.
I can tell them I love them
To give their hearts ease,
And when their back’s to me,
I will love whom I please.