My hands wi’ palsy shake, John,
My locks are like the snow;
Ye’ll surely be the death o’ me,
John Alcohol, my foe.
John Alcohol, my foe, John,
T’was love to you, I ween,
That gart me rise sae ear’, John,
And sit sae late at e’en;
The best o’ friens maun part, John;
It grieves me sair, ye know;