Tae the lairds i' convention t'was Claverhouse
E'er the Kings crown go down, there'll be crowns to be broke;
Then let each cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet o' bonnie Dundee.
Come fill up my
cup, come fill up my can,
Saddle my horses and call out my men,
And it's Ho! for the west port and let us gae free,
And we'll follow the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!
Dundee he is mounted, he rides doon the street,
The bells they ring backwards, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost, douce man, says "Just e'en let him be,
the toon is well rid of that de'il o' Dundee."
There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond
Be there lairds i' the south, there are chiefs i' the north!
There are brave duniwassals, three thousand times
Will cry "Hoy!" for the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee.
Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks,
E'er I own a usurper, I'll couch wi' the fox!
Then tremble, false Whigs, in the midst o' your glee,
Ye ha' no
seen the last o' my bonnets and me.