Greenland, Greenland, is a bonny, bonny place,
Whare there’s neither grief nor flowr,
Whare there’s neither grief nor tier to be seen,
But hills and frost and snow.
2
Up starts the kemp o the ship,
Wi a psalm-book in his hand:
‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old boys,
For you’ll never see dry land.’
3