©1989 Cynthia McQuillin
Black Davie’s riding on down the post road
Thinking of silver, thinking of gold.
Wondering why all the nights are so cold,
Who will you be with when you are old?
Highwayman, Highwayman, what do you dream
Are you a gentleman serving the queen?
Are you a rich man, servants by your side?
Or do you dream of another man’s bride?
Her hair was dark and all pinned up with gold,
Her lips were red, and her eyes were so bold.
You thought to have her, but the price would be your soul.
What kind of woman takes money to hold?
When nights were warmer and your soul was young
There were so many things you would not have done,
But when you dance all night and sang the songs you’ve sung
You pay the piper, and now the time has come.
You’ve stolen silver and gold at her command,
You’ve given everything you had to make her stand,
But you could never steal enough to win her hand
And now she’s married and left you to hang!