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Little ken ye wha’s coming,
Cat and Capperfae's coming.
Breadalbane's breekless kernes are coming,
Paisley’s weaving barns are coming,
Dirks are coming, treddles coming,
Provost Jarvie’s coach is coming.
Little wat ye wha’s coming,
Now the King himsel’s coming.
There’s plaides enow, and mauds coming,
Bonnie border lads coming,
How you stare, ye jade, woman,
To sec the braw cockades coming.
Little wat ye wha’s coming,
Young Buccleuch and a’s coming.
The great Macallummore’s coming,
The thane and the Strathmore’s coming.
A body canna snore, woman,
A’ their piprochs squeeling, bumming.
⟨Little⟩ wat ye wha’s coming,
Warld and wife, and a’s coming.
Auld Reekie’s turn’d a daft woman,
There’s carze in every carft, woman;
And, troth, it’s a’ but weel-becoming,
Now the King himsel’s coming.
