With the golden hair glistening
Would be my love
But came she not,
The salon girl, the parlour lady,
The bobby-cut girl,
Simply speaking,
Fearing it that she would not cook food
And came she too not.
Just the golden locks, remember I, hanging upon,
Coming over the face
And I losing in Bobby’s sweet dreams, Bobby-cut glistening
And golden hair to whisper into her ears,
Bobby, I love you, I love you
But that love you,
Now a dream, a false dream,
As Bobby went away doing ta-ta, bye-bye, goodbye.

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