The Foggy Foggy Dew

When I was a bach'lor, I lived all alone,
I worked at the weavers trade;
and the only, only thing that I did that was wrong,
was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime,
part of the summer too;
and the only, only thing I did that was wrong,
was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she knelt close by my side,
when I was fast asleep.
She threw her arms around my neck,
and then began to weep.
She wept, she cried she tore her hair
ah, me. What could I do?
So all night long I held her in my arms,
just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

Again I'm a bachlor, I live with my son,
we work at the weaver's trade;
and every single time that I look into his eyes,
he reminds me of the fair young maid.
He reminds me of the winter-time,
part of the summer too.
and of many, many times that I held her in my arms,
just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
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