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ANDREW AND HIS CUTTY GUN.
Blytle blythe, blythe was ⟨she⟩,
Blythe was she hatt and ben,
And weel she loe'd it in ⟨her⟩ neive
Bat better when it slippit in.
Blythe, blythe, &c.
When a' the lave gaed to their bed,
And I sat up to clean the shoon,
O wha think ye can jumping ben?
Bat Andrew and his cuttie gun.
Blythe, blythe, &c.
Or e'e I wist he laid me back.
aud up my gammon to my ehin:
And ne'er a word he spake to me,
But liltit out his cuttie gun.
Blythe, Blythe, &c.
The bawsent bitch she left the whalps,
And bunted round us at tho fun,
As Androw dogled wi' his doup,
And fir'd at me his cuttie gun.
Blythe, blythe, &c,
O some delight in cuttie stoup,
And some delight in cuttie-man,
