As I was a-walking one morning in the spring
I met a pretty damsel, so sweetly she did sing
And as we were a-walking these words she did say:
"There's no life like the ploughboys all in the month of May"

The lark in the morn she will rise up from her nest
And mount up in the air with a dew all on her breast
And like the pretty ploughboy she will whistle and will sing
And at night she will return to her own nest back again