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