Oh, fare thee well, my dear Mary Anne,
Our days have all gone by;
Spring is coming, and soon I'll be gone,
But, I'll come back, don't you cry, my dear Mary Anne.
A lobster dies in the boiling pot,
Oh, pity the bluefish, too;
But, they're quickly gone and they suffer not,
The way I cry for you, my dear Mary Anne.
Oh, fare thee well, my dear Mary Anne,
Our days have all gone by;
Spring is coming, and soon I'll be gone,
But, I'll come back, don't you cry, my dear Mary Anne.
Oh, don't you see the pretty turtle dove,
That flies from pine to pine;
Crying for its own true love,
The way I cry for you, my dear Mary Anne.
Oh, fare thee well, my dear Mary Anne,
Our days have all gone by;
Spring is coming, and soon I'll be gone,
But, I'll come back, don't you cry, my dear Mary Anne.