We are na fon, we're na that fon,
but just a drappie in our e’e,
The cork may craw, the day may daw,
and ay we’ll taste tha barley bree.
Here aie we met, three merry boys,
taree merry boys X trove are we;
And mony a night we’ve merry been,
and mony mae we hope to be!
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
that’s blinkin in the lift sae hie!
She shines: sae bright to while us bame
but by my sooth she’ll wait a weel
Wha first shall rise to gang away,
a cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha first beside his chair shall fa’.
He is the king amang us three!
Amang the Rigs o’ Barley.
It was upon a Lammas night,
when corn-rigs are bonny.
Beneath the moon’s unclouded light,
I held awa’ to Annie:
The time flew by wi’ tentless heed,
till ‘tween the late and early,
Wi’ sma’ persuasion she agreed
to see me through the barley.
Corn rigs, and barley rigs
an’ corn rigs are bonny
I’ll ne’er forget that happy night,
amang the rigs wi’ Annie.
