I cross my heart and hope to die

I lie and I lie

The secret's out and my fair lady

Cries, she cries

I am a knight with many a love

Galloping across the countryside

Picking roses and farewell posies

Searching for a pair of doves

I travel on the plains of her fair hair

I sleep in the lake of her belly

I warm as she rises

I wane to the lullaby of her dreaming

Yet my stay is cut short

Her husband will have nothing of the sort

Through the bedroom window

I tumble and fumble and stumble

And on the road once again I find myself

Gallivanting from bosom to bosom

Sir Love-a-lot I call myself

As I tumble, fumble and stumble