I snap my fingers and toss my troubles
Into the wind as in empty bubbles
And hum the whistles and catch a stream
And in a little I feel pain
A likely fellow with class and station
But what a blot on his reputation
She should refuse him for others' sake
But if she does, how her heart will break
She's sad, she's sad, she's sad

With her waning, despairing dearly
When she heard hoofbeats ring loud and clearly
And well she knew both the horse and hen
For through the ear every lady seemed to swim
Over the mountain the sun
Rose dancing
Under the rider the horse was prancing
It struck the ground with its hoof and say
Who takes his girl is as good as dead
And the wind, style blost killed her
But lying still she called the king
She sands high in the middle of the hill
And the mountian 92
We called
Thank you
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