Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
 How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
 And I sae fu' o' care?

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
 That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days,
 When my fause luve was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
 That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
 And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonie Doon
 To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
 And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
 Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw my rose
 But left the thorn wi' me.