Ah, for the glens are lyin' bare And the wee bit farm deserted And the woods o' Germany Grows in rows round the broken-hearted
Many hae gane tae Americay Ye burnt their hames and garred them wander For I woulda gane wi' th'de'il himsel' As bide and hour wi' the cruel Gillanders
Black is the wood on the ruffian-swa's braw But blacker still is your heart, Victoria Sent your men untae our glen You'll need the good Lord lookin' o'er ya
Ah, for the glens are lyin' bare And the wee bit farm deserted And the woods o' Germany Grows in row round the broken-hearted