Isobel Baillie - John Anderson, my Jo | Текст песни

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• Isobel Baillie
• John Anderson, my Jo

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John Anderson, my jo, John,
I wonder what ye mean,
To lie sae lang I' the mornin',
And sit sae late at e'en?
Ye'll bleer a' your een, John,
And why do ye so?
Come sooner to your bed at een,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When first that ye began,
Ye had as good a tail-tree,
As ony ither man;
But now it's waxen wan, John,
And wrinkles to and fro;
[I've t] wa gae-ups for ae gae-down,
[John] Anderson, my jo.

[I'm ba]ckit like a salmon,
[I'm] breastit like a swan;
My wame it is a down-cod,
My middle ye may span:
Frae my tap-knot to my tae, John,
I'm like the new-fa'n snow;
And it's a' for your convenience,
John Anderson, my jo.

O it is a fine thing
To keep out o'er the dyke;
But it's a meikle finer thing,
To see your hurdies fyke;
To see your hurdies fyke, John,
And hit the rising blow;
It's then I like your chanter-pipe,
John Anderson, my jo.

When ye come on before, John,
See that ye do your best;
When ye begin to haud me,
See that ye grip me fast;
See tha ye grip me fast, John,
Until that I cry "Oh!"
Your back shall crack or I do that,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
Ye're welcome when ye please;
It's either in the warm bed
Or else aboon the claes:
Or ye shall hae the horns, John,
Upon your head to grow;
An' that's the cuckold's mallison,
John Anderson, my jo.