Green grows the lily oh Right among the bushes oh A gentleman was passing by And he stopped for a drink As he was dry At the well below the valley oh Green grows the lily oh Right among the bushes oh My pack is full unto the brim And if I were to stop I might fall in If your true love was passing by You'd fill him a drink if he were dry She swore by grass She swore by corn Her true love had never been born He said: young girl You're swearing wrong Six fine children you've born If you be the man of noble fame You'll tell to me the father of them There's two of them by your brother John Another two by your uncle Dan Another two by your father dear Green grows the lily oh If you be the man of noble fame You'll tell to me what happened to them There's two buried 'neath the kitchen door Another two near the stable door Another two just beside the well All of them outside the graveyard wall If you be the man of noble fame You'll tell to me what'll happen to me You'll be seven years of ringing a bell At the well below the valley oh Seven years of burning in hell I'll be seven years of ringing a bell But the Lord above might save my soul From burning in hell...