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 Though the days are gane that we have seen,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

What pleasure does it gie,

To see sae many sprouts, John,

Spring up 'tween you and me;

And ilka lad and lass, John,

In our footsteps to go,

Makes perfect heaven here on earth,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

Frae year to year we've past,

And soon that year maun come, John,

Will bring us to our last;

But let na that affright us, John,

Our hearts were ne'er our foe,

While in innocent delight we lived,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,

And money a cantie day, John,

We've had with ane anither;

Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go,

And we'll sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson, my jo.