He's a bonny Scotch lad, and his bonnet so blue.

His cheeks are like the roses, his eyes like the sloes,

He is handsome and proper, and kills where he goes,

He is handsome and proper, and comely for to view,

He's a bonny Scotch lad, and his bonnet so blue.

When I go to my bed I can find no rest,

The thoughts of my true love still runs in my breast;

The thoughts of my true love still runs in my view,

He's a bonny Scotch lad, and his bonnet so blue.