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 mony a cantie day, John,
We've had wi' one anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,