the path, And you might never fall in love at all. CHORUS: Golden, golden, is her hair, Like the morning sun over fields of corn. Golden, golden, is
their cloaks of blue satin dried up all of the tears. Thus children held hands and they spelled the princess name All the golden children became a golden
But their cloaks of blue satin dried up all of these tears Thus children held hands and they spelled out their name All the golden children became a golden
whistle and sing I'd follow the vessel my true love sails in And in the top rigging I would there build my nest And I'd flutter my wings o'er his broad golden
rambling and sporting Were the cause of my ruin and absence from home Had I all the money that's in the West Indies Or had I the gold of the African
I sing hee-re, ho-ro Nighean ruadh your lovely hair, Has more beauty I declare, Than all the trasses fair, From Killin and Aberfeldy, Be they lint white, Brown or gold
with song and smile fhear a bhata no horo eil'e... do you remember the promise made me the tartan plaidie the silken gown the ring of gold with thy
butter sandwich) Now his scepter wand his royal gowns his regal throne and golden crowns Were brown and sticky from the mounds And drippings from each peanut butter sandwich His subjects all were silly
face in magazines 12 O'Clock maintains in the game Bring the Pain to smokin' Method, main It's not all about the fame, silly ass dames Get a gold record
-butter sandwich. His scepter wand his royal gowns, His regal throne and golden crowns Were brown and sticky from the mounds And drippings from each peanut-butter sandwich. His subjects all were silly
face in magazines 12 O'Clock maintains in the game Bring the Pain to smokin Method, main It's not all about the fame, silly ass dames Get a gold record
