Mary Ann


Fare you well my own Mary Ann,
Fare you well my dear,
For the ship is waiting and the wind blows high,
And I am bound away to the sea, Mary Ann.

The pride of all the produce rare,
That in our garden grew,
Was pumpkins, but none could compare,
In angel form, with you, my dear, Mary Ann.

A lobster boiling in the pot,
A bluefish on the hook,
They're suffering long, but it's nothing like
The ache I bear for you, my dear, Mary Ann.

Midi sequenced by Terry Stephens
Used with permission

TOP OF PAGE

BACK

MAIN PAGE