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An Older Version.
Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest bed that e'er I got,
Was the bellies o' the lassies, O.
'Twas late yestreen I met wi' ane
And wow but she was gentle, O;
Ae han' she pat to my gravat,
The tither to my p—t—e, O.
Green grow, &c.
I dought na speak, yet was na fly'd.
My heart play'd duntie, duntie, 0,
A' ceremonie laid aside,
I fairly faund her c—t—ie, O.
Green grow, &c.
