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 takes the field wi' his white cockade.

O, he's a ranting, roving lad!

He is a brisk and bonny lad!

Betide what may, I will be wed,

And follow the boy wi' the white cockade!

I'll sell my rock, my reel, my tow,

My gude grey mare and hawkit cow:

To buy mysell a tartan plaid,

To follow the boy wi' the white cockade.

O, he's a ranting, &c.