I've traveled the seashore from Cardiff to Conwy,
Walked barefoot on the rough Isle of Anglesey,
Been courted by rich men and soldiers and thieves
But a Marcher Lord's daughter is fearless and free.
There's many a man who's asked me to marry
But you're not the one for me, O.
No, you're not the one for me.

The English girls spite you, Scots lasses will smite you
The Irish one's mad, and she's likely to pike you.
A Welsh maid's a white hart that you must pursue
If you capture her love, then she'll always be true.
There's many a man who asked me to marry
But you're not the one for me, O
No, you're not the one for me.

There's many a man that has been brought low
In love, and in war, by a single arrow.
Her point is as sharp as the thorns of a rose,
Was a woman from Wales who taught Cupid the bow.
There's many a man who's asked me to marry
But you're not the one for me, O.
No, you're not the one for me.

Brave Glyndwr sighed, as in sorrow he died
Far from the arms of his Cymru bride
Poor bastard's in paradise up in the sky,
And heaven is second to Wales, say the wise.
There's many a man who's asked me to marry
But you're not the one for me, O.
No, you're not the one for me.

So, don't fall in love with a maid of Cymru
Unless you can love both the storm and the sea
You're cunning and bold and you're good company
Your heart it is kind, and your spirit is free.
Then you are the man that I've waited to marry
Yes, you'll be the one for me, O.
Yes, you'll be the one for me.
Yes, you're the one for me, O.
Yes, you're the one for me.