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.

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.

Oh leeze me on the philabeg
The hairy hough and garten'd leg ;
But aye the thing that blinds my ee,
The white cockade aboun the bree.

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.

I'll sell my rokelay and my tow,
My good grey mare and hawkit cow,
That every loyal Buchan lad
May tak the field wi the white cockade.