A-Roving Harry Belafonte

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A roving, a roving since roving's been my ruin
I'll go no more a roving from you, fair maid

In Amsterdam there lives a maid
Mark, well, what I do say
In Amsterdam there lives a maid
And she was mistress of her trade

I'll go no more a roving from you, fair maid
A roving a roving since roving's been my ruin
I'll go no more a roving from you, fair maid
I'll go no more a roving from you, fair maid

Her eyes are like two stars so bright
Mark, well, what I do say
Her eyes are like two stars so bright
Her face is soft, her step is light

I'll go no more a roving from you, fair maid
I'll go no more a roving from you, fair maid

Her cheeks are like the rosebud's red
Mark, well, what I do say
Her cheeks are like the rosebud's red
There's a wealth of hair upon her head