John Andersen my jo, John, sweetheart
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent; straight
But now your brow is beld, John, bald
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow, head
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;