I've worn my bits o' shoon away,
Wi' Rovin' up an' deawn,
To see yon moorlan' valleys, an'
Yon little country teawn:
The dule tak' shoon an' stockin's too!
My heart feels hutchin'-fain;
An', if I trudge it bar-fuut, lads,
I'll see yon teawn again!

It's what care I for cities grand,-
We never shall agree;
I'd rayther live where Th' layrock sings,-
A country teawn for me!
A country teawn, where one can meet
Wi' friends an' neighbours known;
Where one can lounge i'th market-place
An' see the meadows mown.

Yon moorlan' hills are bloomin' wild
At th' endin' o' July;
Yon woodlan' cloofs, an valleys green,-
The sweetest under th' sky;
Yon dainty rindles, dancin' deawn
Fro' th' meawntains into th' plain;-
As soon as th' new moon rises, lads,
I'm off to th' moors again!

There's hearty lads among yon hills,
An' in yon country teawn;
They'n far moor sense than prouder folk,-
I'll uphold it for a creawn;
They're wick an' warm at wark an' fun,
Wherever they may go,-
The primest breed o' Iads i'th world,-
Good luck attend 'em o'!

Last neet I laft the city thrung,
An' climbed yon hillock green;
An' turned my face to th' moorlan' hills,
Wi' th' wayter i' my e'en;
Wi' th' wayter wellin i' my e'en;-
I'll bundle up, an go,
An' I'll live an' dee i' my own countrie,
Where the moorlan' breezes blow!