On Top of Old Smoky

On top of old Smoky, all covered with snow,
I lost my true lover from courting too slow.
Now courting is pleasure and parting is grief,
And a false-hearted lover is worse than a thief.
For a thief will just rob you and take what you have,
But a false-hearted lover will lead you to the grave.
And the grave will decay you and turn you to dust;
Not one boy in a hundred a poor girl can trust.

On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed.
It rolled off the table and onto the floor,
And then my poor meatball rolled right out the door.