My love was born in Aberdeen,
The bonniest lad that e’er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu’ sad,
He’s taen the field wi’ his white cockade.
Chorus.
O he’s a rantin, rovin blade,
He’s a brisk and a bonny lad,
Betide what may, my heart is glad,
To see my lad wi his white cockade.
She’ll sell her rock her reel and tow
my guid gray mare and hawkit cow
to buy herself a tartan plaid
to follow the laddie wi the white cockade
I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,
My rippling-kame and spinning wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,
A braidsword, dirk, and white cockade.
Well she sold her rock her reel and tow
Her Guid gray mare and her and hawkit cow,
She bought herself a tartan plaid
and she’s following her laddie wi the white cockade
My love was born in Aberdeen,
The bonniest lad that e’er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu’ sad,
He’s taen the field wi’ his white cockade.