John Anderson, my jo, John,When we were first acquent;Your locks were like the raven,Your bonie brow was brent;But now your brow is beld, John,Your locks are like the snaw;But blessings on your frosty pow,John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,We clamb the hill thegither;And mony a cantie day, John,We’ve had wi’ ane anither:Now we maun totter down, John,And hand in hand we’ll go,And sleep thegither at the foot,John Anderson, my jo.