To arms! to arms! to arms, my lads:
⁠To arms! to arms! to arms!
⁠Care, that canker'd loon,
⁠Is lurking in the town
⁠To charge us wi' fierce alarms.

To arms! to arms! to arms, my lads!
⁠To quell his hatefu' power,
⁠By way of a shield,
⁠This bowl we will wield,
⁠The liquor will soon gar him skour.

Charge, charge, charge, charge, charge him home, my lads!
⁠Charge him home, charge him home, see he flees!
⁠A glass in your hand,
⁠Care never will stand,
⁠You may kill him whenever you please.