The Tommy Makem version is in The Irish Songbook (1971; Oak, 1979, pp. 98-99)

THE MONTH OF JANUARY
(Words and music by Sarah Makem)

It was [D]in the month of Janu-[Bm]ary, the [C]hills were [D]clad in [G]snow,
As [D7]over hills and moun-[G]tains my [D]true love [B7]she did [Em]go.
It was [D7]there I spied a pretty fair [G]maid with a [D]salt tear [B7]in her [Em]eye;
She [D]had a baby in her [Bm]arms and [C]bitter she did [G]cry.

"Oh, cruel was my father, who barred the door on me,
And cruel was my mother this dreadful crime to see;
Oh, cruel was my own true love to change his mind for gold;
And cruel was that winter's night that pierced my heart with cold."

Oh, the taller that the palm tree grows, the sweeter is the bark,
And the fairer that a young man speaks, the falser is his heart;
He will kiss you and embrace you 'til he thinks he has you won,
Then he'll go away and leave you all, all for some other one.

So come, all you pretty fair maids, a warning take by me,
And never try to build your nests on top of a high tree;
For the roots they will all wither and the branches all decay,
And the beauties of a false young man must all soon will fade away.

~Masato