Robert Burns(1759–1796)
John Anderson My Jo
John Anderson my jo, John,joy
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven;
Your bonie brow was brent;9
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,head.
John Anderson My Jo
John Anderson my jo, John,joy
We clamb the hill thegither;climbed
And mony a canty day, John,merry
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
1790