Cauld blaws the wind frae north tae south, the drift is driving fairly,
The sheep are cowerin' in the heugh, o sirs it's winter sairly.

Loud roars the blast amang the woods, and tirls the branches barely,
On hill and hoose hear how it thuds, the frost is nippin' sairly.

The sun peeps ower yon southland hills like onie timerous carlie,
Just blinks a wee then sinks again, and that we find severely.

Nae linties lilt on hedge nor bush, poor things they suffer sairly,
In cauldrife quarters o' the nicht, a' day they feed but sparely.

A cosy hoose and a canty wife aye keep a body cheerly,
And pantries stowed wi' meat and drink, they answer unco rarely.

Chorus:
Up in the mornin's no' for me, up in the mornin' early,
When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw, I'm sure that it's winter sairly.