This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
John Anderson, my joe, cum in as ye gae by,
And ye sall get a sheip's heid weel baken in a pye;
Weel baken in a pye, and a haggis in a pat;
John Anderson, my joe, cum in and ye's get that.
And how doe ye, cummer? and how doe ye thrive?
And how many bairns hae ye? Cummer, I hae five.
Are they to your awin gudeman? Na, cummer, na—
For three o' them were gotten quhan Willie was awa'.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie 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.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And we'll sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
I wonder what ye mean,
To rise sae early in the morn,
And sit sae late at e'en;
Ye'll blear out a' your een, John,
And why should you do so?
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When nature first began
To try her canny hand, John,
Her master-piece was man;
And you amang them a', John,
Sae trig frae tap to toe,
She proved to be nae journeyman,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
Ye were my first conceit,
And ye need na think it strange, John,
That I ca' ye trim and neat;
Though some folks say ye're auld, John,
I never think ye so,
But I think ye're aye the same to me,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We've seen our bairns' bairns,
And yet, my dear John Anderson,
I'm happy in your arms,
And sae are ye in mine, John,
I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no,
Tho' the days are gane that we have seen,
John Anderson, my jo,
John Anderson, my jo, John,
What pleasure does it gi'e,
To see sae many sprouts, John,
Spring up 'tween you an' me;
And ilka lad and lass, John,
In our footsteps to go,
Makes perfect heaven here on earth,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
Our siller ne'er was rife,
And yet we ne'er saw poverty,
Sin' we were man and wife;
We've aye haen bit and brat, John,
Great blessings here below,
And that helps to keep peace at hame,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
The world lo'es us baith
We ne'er spak' ill o' neibours, John,
Nor did them ony skaith;
To live in peace and quietness
Was a' our care, ye know,
And I'm sure they'll greet when we are dead,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
Frae year to year we've past,
And soon that year maun come, John,
Will bring us to our last;
But let na that affright, John,
Our hearts were ne'er our foe,
While in innocent delight we've lived,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
And when the time is come,
That we, like it er auld folk, John,
Maun sink into the tomb,
A motto we will ha'e, my John,
To let the world know,
We happy lived, contented died,
John Anderson, my jo.