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