Oh she was a lass from the low country
And he was a lord of high degree
And she loved his lordship so tenderly
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley
Where the wildflowers nod
And no one knows she loved him
But herself and God
One day when the show was on the mead
He passed her by on a milk white steed
She spoke to him low but he paid no heed
So if you be a lass from the low country
Don't love no lord of high degree
For they ain't got no heart or sympathy
@love
filename[ LASSLOWC
SF
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY