Clementine (Traditional)                              would have saved my Clementine.                   
                                                                                                        
In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine       [chorus]                                          
Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter                                                            
Clementine.                                           How I missed her, how I missed her, how I missed  
                                                      my Clementine, 'Til I kissed her little sister    
[chorus]:                                             and forgot my Clementine.                         
    Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my                                                                 
    darling Clementine You are lost and               [chorus]                                          
    gone forever, dreadful sorry,                                                                       
    Clementine.                                                                                         
                                                                                                        
Light she was and like a fairy and her shoes                                                            
were number nine. Herring boxes without topses,                                                         
sandals were for Clementine.                                                                            
                                                                                                        
[chorus]                                                                                                
                                                                                                        
Drove she ducklings to the water every morning                                                          
just at nine Hit her foot against a splinter,                                                           
fell into the foaming brine.                                                                            
                                                                                                        
[chorus]                                                                                                
                                                                                                        
Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft                                                         
and fine, As for me, I was no swimmer, so I lost                                                        
my Clementine.                                                                                          
                                                                                                        
[chorus]                                                                                                
                                                                                                        
In a churchyard near the canyon where the myrtle                                                        
doth entwine There grow roses and other posies,                                                         
fertilized by Clementine.                                                                               
                                                                                                        
[chorus]                                                                                                
                                                                                                        
Now ye Boy Scouts, heed the warning to this                                                             
tragic tale of mine, Artificial respiration