My heart was ance as blithe and free. As simmer days were lang;. But a bonie, westlin weaver lad. Has gart me change my sang.. . Chorus.-To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids,.
It was a' for our rightfu' King. We left fair Scotland's strand;. It was a' for our rightfu' King. We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,. We e'er saw Irish land..
When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town,. He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown;. But now he has gotten a hat and a feather,. Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver!.