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 monie a canty day, John,We've had wi' ane anither:Now we maun totter down, John,But hand in hand we'll go,And sleep thegither at the foot,John Anderson my jo.
"But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo."—Page 216.
