Down in some lonesome valley, in a lonesome place
Where the wild birds do whistle and their notes do increase
Farewell, pretty Saro, I’ll bid you adieu
But I’ll dream of pretty Saro wherever I go

My love she won’t have me, so I understand
She wants a freeholder who owns house and land
I cannot maintain her on silver and gold
Nor buy all the fine things that a big house can hold

If I were a merchant and could write some fine hand
I would write my love a letter that she’d understand
I would write it by the river where the waters o’er flow
And I’ll dream of pretty Saro wherever I go.