If you marry a man with a pick in his pocket, you'll be a poor man's wife

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Come all you young fair ladies,
Hear what I have to say
Don’t marry a man with a pick in his pocket
Or you’ll live to curse the day
You’ll never have the things you need
To make a decent life,
If you marry a man with a pick in his pocket,
You’ll be a poor man’s wife.

He’ll leave you in the evening,
When the sun is going down,
You’ll sit home all by yourself,
While he’s out on the town,
Cause he don’t care about nothing,
Except to play a guitar and sing,
He’ll come home with just a pick in his pocket,
And a pick won’t buy a thing.

Now when you were a small girl,
You thought the whole thing through,
You’d grow up and you’d marry a man
Who’d take good care of you,
So heed this word of warning,
Or your future will be dim,
If you marry a man with a pick in his pocket,
You’ll be supporting him.

And when you lie there sleeping,
Dreaming dreams of bliss,
He’ll stumbling through the door
And wake you with a drunken kiss
And you’ll know the dream is over
But it’ll be too late by then
Cause you married a man with a pick in his pocket,
Look at the mess you’re in.

Cause you married a man with a pick in his pocket,
Look at the mess you’re in.