Oh, faretheewell my dear Mary Anne
Our days have all gone by
Spring is coming and soon I'll be gone
But I'll come back, don't you cry my dear Mary Anne.
A lobster dies in the boiling pot
Oh pity the bluefish, too
But they're quickly gone and they suffer not
The way I cry for you my dear, Mary Anne.
Oh don't you see the pretty turtle dove
That flies from pine to pine
Crying for its own true love
The way I cry for you my dear Mary Anne.