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To our dear native scenes
Let us journey together
Where glad innocence reigns
'Mang the braes of Balquhither.
My Love was Born in Aberdeen.
My love was born in Aberdeen,
The bonniest lad that e'er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu' sad.
He takes the field wi' his white cockade.
O he's a ranting, roving lad,
He is a brisk an' a bonny lad;
Betide what may, I will be wed,
And follow the boy wi' the white cockade.
I'll sell my rock, my reel, my tow,
My gude grey mare, and hawkit cow,
To buy myself a tartan plaid,
To follow the boy wi' the white cockade.
O he's a ranting, &c.
