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Awa, ye thoughtless murd'ring gang,
Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee !
They'll sing you yet a canty sang,
Then O in pity let them be!
Thou bonnie, &c.
When winter blaws in sleety show'rs,
Frae aff the norlin' hills sae hie,
He lightly skiffs thy bonny bow'rs,
As laith to harm a flow'r in thee.
Thou bonnie, &c.
Tho' fate should drag me south the line,
Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea,
The happy hours I'll ever mind,
That I in youth ha'e spent in thee,
Thou bonnie, &c.
FINIS.
