6
An' a sad reformation a sad reformation,
A sad reformation in a' the kirks about.
Muckle do they say, an' mair may we fear;
The French an' the Spaniards are a' coming here;
And we'll a' be murder'd, murder'd, murder'd,
And we'll a' be murder'd, that's very clear.
But, for my part, I'm easy altho' they come the morn,
I'll gie them anither turn, for a' the nicks that's on my horn,
For I'll no yield it, yield it, yield it,
For I'll no yield it to ony man born.
Do ye so mind just on this very floor,
When we were a' reckit out to gang to Sherriemuir
Wi stanes in our aprons, wi' stanes in our aprons,
Wi stanes in our aprons, we did muckle deol, I'm sure.
Eh! now Marg'ret was nae yon a gun?
Asweel no, Elspit, it’s me breaking win’;
An' we're weel when we want it, want it, want it,
We're weel when we want it awa wi' little din.
