LONA LEE

(To an old Irish Air, The Boys of Blue Hill, played as a slow air rather than a hornpipe)

 

He loves me, that I know,

But he never tells me so.

I hunger for his touch

And to be sitting on his knee.

I kiss him very well;

O he likes that, I can tell;

I give him fillet steak

And current buns and tea.

 

And a glass or two of wine,

For I want him to be mine,

To open up his heart,

Spill out his soul to me.

But he takes me to my bed

And makes love to me instead.

He loves me and he loves me,

How he loves me, till I die.

O but then he's dressed and goin'

And he leaves me all alone

Feeling all so sad and sorry

And so Lona Lee.

 

He takes me to my bed,

Makes love to me instead;

He loves me, how he loves me,

Loves me till I die.

But then he's dressed and goin'

And he leaves me all alone,

Feeling all so sad and sorry

And so Lona Lee.