John Anderson, My Jo

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
Your boniebrow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
Butblessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a cantieday, John,
We’ve had wi’aneanither:
Now we mauntotter down, John,
And hand in hand we’ll go,
And sleep thegitherat the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.