When the yorlin's cry fills the evenin' sky and the winds o' winter blow
I will take my ease by yon stand o' trees and look ower the fields o' snow
And though I've worked this land wi' honest hands and my blessings they are many
I can always hear a cauld wind pipe playin' "Back tae Berwick, Johnny"
I hae three score years, twa bairns tae rear, my wife's but four and twenty
And she did agree tae follow me in the hopes of peace and plenty
For Poland's rigs are fine and fair, New Scotia's dales are bonny
And when she weeps I hear a cauld wind pipe playin' "Back tae Berwick, Johnny"
Prosperity is the finest tree that stands in a' creation
And beneath its boughs we will speed our plough tae join the Polish nation
But our hearts hold riches dearer far than any land or money
And we will always hear yon cauld wind pipe playin' "Back tae Berwick, Johnny"