| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
Crimes |
321 |
||
|
|
|||
|
The Argid-eyed justice did me hody pursue, From London to Yorktown like lightning we flew. No tollgate could stop thee, did the river abreast, In twelve hours we reached it, my bonny Black Bess.
5 Hark, the bloodhounds approach, but they never shall have A beast like poor Betsy, so faithful and brave;
You must die, my dumb friend, though it does me distress; There, there, I have shot you, my bonny Black Bess.
6 Now in afterages when I'm dead and gone,
Those few lines will be handed from father to son; There's no one can say that ingratitude dwell In the bosom of Turpin, a vice he ne'er fell. I will die like a man and will soon be at rest, So farewell, forever, my bonny Black Bess. |
|||
|
B
Sung in 1934 by Mr. Chauncey Leach, Kalkaska, who learned the song in Babcock's lumber camp, east of Sharon.
i When the justice of Yorky did my heart he pursue, From London to Yorky like lightning he flew. No tall bar did stop thee and the river you'd breast, And in twelve hours reached there on my bonny Black Bess.
2 How quietly you stood when the high sheriff I shot; It was not my intentions, but death was his lot.
But across fields and marshes you have done your best, For to save me you tried, O my bonny Black Bess.
3 Harkl The bloodhounds are approaching, but they never shall
have A beast like thee, so galyant and brave. You must die, my dumb friend, though it does me distress. There, there (clap hands twice), I have shot thee, my bonny
Black Bess. |
|||