The Music of the Piper

If you marry the hackler, it's you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will suffocate with the roots of the earth,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until it is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle and grabbing the spade,
You'd much prefer to have me and the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

If you marry the weaver, it's you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
You'll soon be weak and lost from the working of the loom,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until it is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle and moaning from the poverty,
You'd much prefer to have me and the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

If you marry the tailor, it's you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
There'll be wisps of straw piled at the door, like a dog would drop his dung,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until it is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle and gnawing bits of cloth,
You'd much prefer to have me and the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.