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Ik buig m' aan Uwe kribbe neer

de Traditional

Cam ye o'er frae France? Cam ye doon by Lunnon?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps and his bonnie woman?
Were ye at the place ca'd the Kittle Hoosie?
Saw ye Geordie's grace riding on a goosie?

Geordie he's the man, there is little doubt o't;
He's done a' he can, wha can dae withoot it?
Doon there cam a blade linkin' like my lordie;
He wad drive a trade at the loom o' Geordie.

Though the claith were bad, blithely may we niffer;
Gin we get a wab, it mak's little differ.
We hae lost our plaid, bonnet, belt and swordie,
Ha's and mailins braid ­ but we hae a Geordie!

Jocky's gone tae France, and Montgomery's lady;
There they'll learn tae dance: ­ Madam, are ye ready?
They'll be back belive, belted, brisk and lordly;
Brawly may they thrive tae dance a jig wi' Geordie!

Hey for Sandy Don! Hey for Cock-a-Lorum!
Hey for Bobbin' John, and his Hieland Quorum!
Many's the sword and lance, swings at highland hurdie;
How they'll skip and dance, o'er the bum o' Geordie!

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