On Top of Old Smokey

American

On top of Old Smokey,
All covered with snow,
I lost my true lover
By courting too slow.

Now courting's a pleasure,
And parting is grief,
But a false-hearted true love
Is worse than a thief.

A thief can but rob you,
And take what you have,
But a false-hearted true love
Will take you to your grave.

The grave will decay you
And turn you to dust.
Only one out of twenty
A poor girl/boy can trust.

They’ll tell you they love you,
Just to give your heart ease,
And when they are from you,
They love whom they please.

They’ll tell you they love you,
The’ll tell you more lies
Than the ties on the railroad,
Or the stars in the sky.

On top of Old Smokey,
On the mountain so high,
Only wild birds and branches
Can hear my sad cry.