Cam’ ye ower frae France, cam’ ye doon by Lunnon?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps and his bonnie wumman?
Were ye at the place ca’d the Kittle Hoosie?
Saw ye Geordie’s grace ridin’ on a goosie?
Geordie he’s a man there is little doubt o’t,
He does a’ he can, wha can dae withoot it?
By there cam’ a man linkin’ like my lordie,
He maun drive a trade at the loom o’ Geordie.
Though the claith were bad, blythely may we niffer,
Gin we get a wab, it mak’s little differ.
We maun taint oor plaid, bonnet, belt and swordie,
Ha’s the mailin’s braid, but we hae a Geordie.
Jocky’s gone tae France, and Montgomery’s lady,
There they’ll learn tae dance, «madam are you ready?»
They’ll be back belyve, belted, brick and lordly,
Brawly may they thrive, tae dance a jig wi’ Geordie.
Hey for Sandy Don, hey for Cockalorum,
Hey for Bobbin’ John and his Heilan’ quorum.
Many’s the sword and lance swings at Heilan’ hurdle,
How they’ll skip and dance, ower the bum o’ Geordie.