His bannet was blue, his shoon maistly new;
And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod;
And weel does he keep the kirk road.
How is he fendin’, John Tod, John Tod?
How is he fendin’, John Tod?
He’s scourin’ the land wi’ a rung in his hand,
And the French wadna frichten John Tod, John Tod;
And the French wadna frichten John Tod.
Ye’re sun-brint and battered, John Tod, John Tod;
Ye’re tautit and tattered, John Tod: