George Collins rode out last Friday night
There he took sick and died
And when Misses Collins heard that George was dead
She wrung her hands and cried
Marian in the hallway a sewing her silk
She's a sewing her silk so fine
And hone she heard that George was dead
She threw her sewing aside
And she followed him up, she followed him down
Followed him to his grave
And there along hеr banded knee
She wept, shе mourned, she prayed
Ah dear daughter don't you take it so hard
There's more pretty boys than George
There's more pretty boys standing around
But none so dear as George
Sat down the coffin and lift up the lid
Lay back the sheeting so fine
That I may kiss those cold clay lips
I know they'll never kiss mine