| Gan to the kye with me, my love
|
| Gan to the kye with me
|
| Over the moor and through the grove
|
| I’ll sing ditties to thee
|
| Cushie, thy pet, is lowing
|
| Around her poor firstling’s shed
|
| Tears in her eyes are flowing
|
| Because little Colly lies dead
|
| Gan to the kye…
|
| All the fine herd of cattle
|
| Thy vigilant sire possessed
|
| After his fall in battle
|
| By rebel chieftains were prest
|
| Gan to the kye…
|
| Kine now is all our property
|
| Left by thy father’s will
|
| Yet if we nurse it watchfully
|
| We may win geer enow still
|
| Gan to the kye… |