Fu' yellow lie the corn rigs
Far down the braid hillside;
It is the brawest hairst field
Alang the shores o' Clyde,
And I'm a puir hairst lassie
Wha stands the lee lang day
Amang the corn rigs of Ardbeg
Abune sweet Rothesay Bay.

O I had ance a true love,
Now, I hae nane a va;
And I had three braw brithers,
But I hae tint them a';
My father and my mither sleep
I' the mools this day
I sit my lane amang the rigs
Abune sweet Rothesay Bay.

It's a bonnie bay at morning,
And bonnier at the noon,
But bonniest when the sun draps
And red comes up the moon:
When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbrays,
And Arran peaks are grey,
And the great black hills,
Like sleepin' kings,
Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay.

Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,
And a wee tear blin's my ee,
And I think of that far countrie
Whar I wad like to be.
But I rise content i' the morning
To wark while wark I may
I' the yellow hairst field of Ardbeg
Abune sweet Rothesay Bay.