Gan to the kye with me, my love
Gan to the kye with me
Over the moor and through the grove
I'll sing ditties to thee

Cushie, thy pet, is lowing
Around her poor firstling's shed
Tears in her eyes are flowing
Because little Colly lies dead

Gan to the kye...

All the fine herd of cattle
Thy vigilant sire possessed
After his fall in battle
By rebel chieftains were prest

Gan to the kye...

Kine now is all our property
Left by thy father's will
Yet if we nurse it watchfully
We may win geer enow still

Gan to the kye...