Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly,
Sae loud and shill's I hear the blast-
I'm sure it's winter fairly!
Up in the morning 's no for me,
Up in the morning early!
When a' the hills are cover'd wi snaw
I'm sure it's winter fairly:
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn-
I'm sure it's winter fairly.