My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks …

Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

He turn'd him right and round about Upon the Irish shore; And gae his bridle reins a shake, With adieu forevermore, My dear- And adieu forevermore!

Sadly I roam, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home.

I am a citizen of the world, known to all and to all a stranger.

They change their skies above them, But not their hearts that roam!