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GOW’S FAREWEEL TO WHISKY.
YOU’VE surely heard o’ famous Neil
The man that play’d the fiddle weel,
I wat he was a canty chiel’,
And dearly lo’ed the Whisky, O.
And ay since he wore tartan trews,
He dearly lo’ed the Athole brose;
And wae he was, you may suppose,
To play fareweel to Whisky, O.
The man that play’d the fiddle weel,
I wat he was a canty chiel’,
And dearly lo’ed the Whisky, O.
And ay since he wore tartan trews,
He dearly lo’ed the Athole brose;
And wae he was, you may suppose,
To play fareweel to Whisky, O.
Alake, quoth Neil, I’m frail and auld,
And find my bluid grows unco cauld,
I think ’twad make me l’ythe and bauld,
A wee drap Highland Whisky, O.
Yet the doctors they do a’ agree,
That whisky’s nae the drink for me;
Saul! quoth Neil, ’twill spoil my glee,
Should they part me and Whisky.
And find my bluid grows unco cauld,
I think ’twad make me l’ythe and bauld,
A wee drap Highland Whisky, O.
Yet the doctors they do a’ agree,
That whisky’s nae the drink for me;
Saul! quoth Neil, ’twill spoil my glee,
Should they part me and Whisky.
Tho’ I can get baith wine and ale,
And find my head and fingers hale,
And find my head and fingers hale,
