I was a young man I was a rover

Nothing could satisfy me but a wife

When I reached the age of twenty

Weary was I of a single life

The very first year my wife I married

Out of her company I could not stay

Her voice was sweet as the lark or the linnet

The nightingale at the break of day

Now she's fairly altered her meaning

Now she's fairly changed her tune

Nothing but scolding comes from her mouth

The poor man's work is never done

The very first year my wife I married

Scarce could I get but one hour sleep

With her two knees she rubbed my shins

Husband dear put down your feet

The baby cried she bitterly scolded

Down to the door I was forced for to run

Without trousers hat or a waistcoat

The poor man's work is never done

I go up to the top of the hill

To view my sheep that had all gone astray

When I came back she was lying in her bed

At twelve o'clock on a winter's day

When I came back both wet and weary

Weary and wet now where could I run

Lying in her bed the fire up beside her

Says Young man is the kettle on

I'll go back to my aged mother

She'll be sitting there all alone

Says there's plenty young women to be had

Why should I be tied to one

All young men that is to marry

Though they'll grieve you ever more

Death o death come take my wife

And then my troubles will be yours