In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine, Lived a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter Clementine.
Oh my darling, Oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine,
You are lost and 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.
Drove she ducklings to the water every morning just at nine,
Hit her foot against a splinter, fell into the foaming brine.
Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft and fine,
Alas for me! I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine.
In a churchyard near the canyon, where the myrtle doth entwine,
There grow roses and other posies, fertilized by Clementine.
Then the miner, forty-niner, soon began to peak and pine,
Thought he oughter join his daughter, now he’s with his Clementine.
In my dreams she still doth haunt me, robed in garments soaked in brine,
While in life I used to hug her, now she’s dead I draw the line.
How I missed her, how I missed her, how I missed my Clementine,
Until I kissed her little sister, and forgot my Clementine.
Now ye Scouts all heed the warning to this tragic tale of mine,
Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation would have saved my Clementine.