John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven.
Your bonnie 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 thegithter
And mony a canty 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.


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