Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,

Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang ‘s my arm.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For days of auld lang syne

We twa hae run about the braes

And pu'd the gowans fine

But we've wander'd mony a weary fit

Sin days of auld lang syne

We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn

Frae morning sun till dine

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin days of auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For days of auld lang syne

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp

And surely I'll be mine

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere

And gie's a hand o' thine

And we'll tak a right gude-willy waught

For auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne