American Ballads and Folk Songs: page - 0250

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American Ballads and Folk Songs
It's once my apron hung down low, (3) He'd follow me through both sleet and snow. True love, don't weep, etc.
It's now my apron's to my chin, (3) He'll face my door and won't come in. True love, don't weep, etc.
I wish to the Lord my babe was born, A-sitting upon his papa's knee, And me, poor girl, was dead and gone, And the green grass growing over me. True love, don't weep, etc.