The Corrs - Black is the colour

Bl^Fack is ^Gthe colour of my tru^Dme loves hair Hi^Fs lipes ar^Ge like some ros^Dmes fair He^F has the^G sweetest smile an^Dmd the gentlest hands An^Dmd I love t^Emhe ground whe^Dmreon he stands I ^Flove my ^Glove and well he^Dm knows I ^Flove the ^Gground whe^Dmreon he goes I ^Fwish that ^Gday would s^Dmoon come Wh^Dmen he and ^EmI can be as ^Dmone

I ^Fgo to the ^GClyde and I mou^Dmrn and weep Fo^Fr satisfie^Gd I never^Dm sleep I ^Fwrite him lette^Grs just a^Dm few short lines An^Fd suffe^Gr death ten thous^Dmand times

Bl^Fack is the c^Golour of my^Dm true loves hair Hi^Fs lips are li^Gke some ros^Dmes fair He^F has the sweet^Gest smile a^Dmnd the gentlest hands An^Dmd I love the^Em ground where^Dmon he stands I ^Dmlove the grou^Emnd whereon he s^Dmtands I ^Dmlove I love ^EmI love the groun^Dmd whereon he stands