[Am]As I was walking [G]all a[Am]lane,
[Am]I heard twa corbies [Em]makin a [Am]mane;
The [G]tane unto the [Dm]ither
[Am]say,
"Whar [F]sall we gang [Dm]and [G]dine the-[Am]day
[Am]Whaur sail we gang [Dm]and [Em]dinn the [Am]day
In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And nane do ken that he lies there,
But his
hawk, his hound an his lady fair."
His hound is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's tain anither mate,
So we
may mak oor dinner swate."
Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We'll
theek oor nest whan it grows bare."
Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane;
Oer his white banes, whan they are bare,
The
wind sall blaw for evermair."
