YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad
In a’ our town or here awa;
Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu’ lightly danc’d he in the ha’.
He roos’d my een sae bonie blue,
He roos’d my waist sae genty sma;
And ay my heart came to my mou,
When ne’er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,
Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw;
And o’er the lee I leuk fu’ fain
When Jockey’s owsen homeward ca’.
An ay the night comes round again
When in his arms he taks me a’;
And ay he vows he‘ll be my ain
As lang ‘s he has breath to draw.