For auld lang syne, my jo, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne.
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 are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. BurnsRobert Burns
When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo, And owsen frae the furrowed field Return sae dowf and weary O.Robert Burns
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