| Bm | F# | Bm | F# | | On a w | agon | bound for m | arket, |
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| Bm | Em | Bm | F# | | There's a | calf with a | mournful | eye. |
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| Bm | F# | Bm | F# | | High ab | ove him | there's a s | wallow |
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| Bm | Em | F# | Bm | | Winging s | wiftly t | hrough the | sky. |
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| | | A | D | | | | How the winds are l | aughing, |
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| | | Bm | A | D | | | | They l | augh with all their m | ight, |
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| | | A | D | F# | Bm | | | | Laugh and laugh the w | hole d | ay th | rough, |
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| | | F# | Bm | | | And | half the summer's n | ight. |
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| | | F# | Bm | | | | Dona, dona, dona, d | onna; |
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| | | A | D | | | | Dona, dona, dona, | don. |
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| | | F# | Bm | | | | Dona, dona, dona, d | onna; |
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| | | F# | Bm | | | | Dona, dona, dona, | don. |
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"Stop complaining," said the farmer, |
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"Who told you a calf to be, |
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Why don't you have wings to fly with, |
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Like the swallow so proud and free?" |
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Calves are easily bound and slaughtered, |
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Never knowing the reason why, |
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But whoever treasures freedom, |
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Like the swallow has learned to fly. |
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