By the banks of the river

Where the willows hang down

The wild birds they warbleWith a low mornin′ sound

Way down in the hollow

Where the river runs cold

It was there I first listened

To the lies that you told

Now I lie on my back

And I see your sweet face

A past I remember

Time can't erase

And letters you wrote me

They were written in shame

And I know that your conscience

Still echoes my name

Now if the ladies were black birds

If the ladies were thrushes

Well I′d lie there for hours

In the chilly cold marshes

And if the women were squirrels

With them high bushy tails

Well I'd load up my shotgun

With rock salt and nails

I'd load up my shotgun