Oh, what may I have for my breakfast, my woman, my joy?
Here’s what you may have for your breakfast, my beautiful
boy.
A cup of cold poison!
Make my bed soon. There’s a pain in my head and I need to
lie down.
Hold on to my hand please woman. Hold out your hand.
Oh, for to be certain. I am dying and the pain I can’t
stand.
Come take your last comfort in the lap of your wife.
And hold onto the hand that has surely taken your life.
Now go and be damned you wicked, unfaithful, young man.
And so may your passing be wretched and your body be
damned.
A small choir of angels cursed the day of your birth.
Now the taste on your tongue be a mouthful of earth.
Oh, what may I have for my breakfast, my woman, my joy?
Here’s what you may have for your breakfast, my beautiful
boy.
A cup of cold poison!
Make my bed soon. There’s a pain in my head and I need to
lie down.
