A fine young guy he was indeed
He was mounted on his milk-white steed
Long he roamed himself all alone
Until he came to lovely Joan
Good morning to you, my pretty little mate
Twice good morning, sir, she said
He gave her a wink, she rolled her eye
Said him to himself, I'll be there by and by
Now do you know why I'm here?
Don't you think those books of hay
A pretty place for us to play
So come with me like a sweet young thing
And I'll give you my golden ring
He pulled off his ring of gold
My pretty little miss to this behold
I'll freely give it for your maidenhead
On the cheeks they blush like the roses red
Oh, give me the ring unto my hand
And I will neither stay nor stay
For that would be more use to me
Than twenty maidenheads, said she
Then as he made for the books of hay
She leapt on his horse and she tore away
He called and he called but it's all in vain
For Joan she never looked back again
Nor did she think herself quite sane
Nor till she came to a true love's gate
She's robbed the lord of his horse and ring
And left him enraged in the meadow's green
Oh good old former Kivolowitz
Get your strong hands ready
Oh Heration get up in the room
Oh!
A fine young gun