5
hall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky,
Sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Like auld Philosophorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit
And canna rise to shake a fit
To the Reel of Tullochgorum?
May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest-hearted open friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,
Be a' that's gude before him!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty,
Peace and plenty,
May peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties a great store o'm:
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain'd by any vicious blot!
And may he never want a groat
That's fond of Tullochgorum.
But for the discontented fool,
Who wants to be oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,
And blackest fiends devour him!
May dole and sorrow be his chance,
And honest souls abhor him;
