John Anderson My Jo John Anderson My Jo John Anderson my jo, John When we were first aqent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snaw, But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. ROBERT BURNS took an old, bawdy song and rewrote it as one of his most well-loved and beautiful love songs - creating, as was said by George Gilfillan in his The National Burns - one of the most beautiful expressions of true and time-tried tenderness in the world.   John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first aquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, 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 sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.       John Anderson My Jo John Anderson my jo, John I wonder what ye mean, To lie sae lang i' the mornin', And sit sae late at e'en? Ye'll bleer a' your een, John, And why do ye so? Come sooner to your bed at een, John Anderson, my jo. The bawdy version, which was clearly known to Burns, has received some acclaim in recent years following the republication of The Merry Muses of Caledonia edited by James Barke and Sidney Goodsir Smith (WH Allen, Edinburgh in1965, much of it taken from the original 1800 edition.   John Anderson, my jo, John, I wonder what ye mean, To lie sae lang i' the mornin', And sit sae late at e'en? Ye'll bleer a' your een, John, And why do ye so? Come sooner to your bed at een, John Anderson, my jo.   John Anderson, my jo, John, When first that ye began, Ye had as good a tail-tree, As ony ither man; But now its waxen wan, John, And wrinkles to and fro, I've twa gae-ups for ae gae-down, John Anderson, my jo.   I'm backit like a salmon, I'm breastit like a swan; My wame it is a down-cod, My middle ye may span:; Frae my tap-knot to my tae, John, I'm like the new-fa'n snow; And it's a' for your convenience, John Anderson, my jo.   O it is a fine thing To keep out o'er the dyke, But its a meikle finer thing, To see your hurdies fyke; To see your hurdies fyke, John, And hit the rising blow; It's then I like your chanter-pipe, John Anderson, my jo.   When ye come on before, John, See that ye do your best; When ye begin to haud me, See that ye grip me fast; See that ye grip me fast, John, Until that I cry "Oh!" Your back shall crack or I do that, John Anderson, my jo.   John Anderson, my jo, John, Ye're welcome when ye please; It's either in the warm bed Or else aboon the claes: Or ye shall hae the horns, John, Upon your head to grow; An' that's the cuckold's mallison, John Anderson, my jo.       John Anderson My Jo John Anderson my Jo, John When we were first aquaint, Your stones gaed rattlin tae ma airse, An yer cock gaed up ma cunt; But noo ye're turnin auld John, It wobbles too and fro, And it twice gangs by for aince gangs in, John Anderson, my Jo. The following version was recorded from the singing of Jimmy McBeath at St Andrews, collected by Peter Shepheard in 1965. The existence of the song in this form in Jimmy McBeath's repertoire clearly indicates a continued and independent survival of the song in the oral tradition. And it makes for interesting comparison with both the Merry Muses copy and Burn's rewrite!   John Anderson my Jo, John, When we were first acquaint, Your stones gaed rattlin tae ma airse, An yer cock gaed up ma cunt; But noo ye're turnin auld John, It wobbles too and fro, And it twice gangs by for aince gangs in, John Anderson my Jo.   Oh John Anderson my Jo, John, Ye are a dirty Devil, Ye've muckle need tae wash yer airse An kame yer hairy pissle; But the crabs are crawlin roun aboot, In ma napt ye'll soon find now, [uncertain words For ye're right up through ma shite bum, John Anderson ma Jo.   Oh John Anderson ma Jo, John, For breakfast we'll hae eggs, An ye'll gie me the lang thing, 't hings atween your legs; Ye'll lay me on ma back, John, Cock up ma dending hole, [uncertain word An ye'll pink yer pole intae ma hole, John Anderson ma Jo.   Oh John Anderson ma Jo, John, I mind the nicht right weel, Ye laid me on ma back John, Ma nakit thing tae feel; Ye took it in your hands John, The rovin Tally Ho! And ye kissed ma lips and spread ma hips, John Anderson ma Jo.   John Anderson ma Jo, John, We've climbed the hills together, And many's the canty rovin ride, We've had at een anither; But noo we're turnin auld John, Come hand in hand we'll go, For we'll fuck and fart till death dae part, John Anderson ma Jo.     Note: Apart from the songs appearance in The Merry Muses of 1800, there are also versions in Philomel (London, 1744) and The Masque (London 1768).   © Peter Shepheard 2002