As she walked past the jailhouse door,

She spied a man with head hung low,

And all because of bolts and bars,
His homeland he would never know.

'I am a prisoner far from home,

But if you'll only steal the key,
I'll take you where the grass grows green,
And make of you a great lady.'

She had her doubts about his promise.

She had her doubts about his tale.
But she was certain of one thing:
She'd not make love to him in jail.

And when he dumped her by the road

That led her back to her own mother,
She had no doubt he'd carry on
With someone new and then another.

Her mother blamed his Scottish blood,

And the soft English heart that hurts,
But she now sees men all the same,
Even the lovely ones in skirts.