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The Month of January
Traditional

It was in the month of January, the hills were clad in snow
And over hills and valleys, to my true love I did go
It was there I met a pretty fair maid, with a salt tear in her eye
She had a wee baby in her arms, and bitter she did cry

"Oh, cruel was my father, he barred the door on me
And cruel was my mother, this fate she let me see
And cruel was my own true love, he changed his mind for gold
Cruel was that winter's night, it pierced my heart with cold"

Oh, the higher that the palm tree grows, the sweeter is the bark
And the fairer that a young man speaks, the falser is his heart
He will kiss you and embrace you, 'till he thinks he has you won
Then he'll go away and leave you all for another one

So come all you fair and tender maidens, a warning take by me
And never try to build your nest on top of a high tree
For the roots, they will all wither, and the branches all decay
And the beauties of a fair young man, will all soon fade away

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