( 4 )
The tailor cam’ to clout the claise,
Upon a Lammas night, man,
Which caus’d the battle o’ the fleas,
And shaw’d M'Craw’s great might, man;
John Tamson at the key-hole keeks,
My wife’s a wanton pawky,
She’s clouting Johnny’s grey breeks,
And bess she’s but a gawky.
In Fife there liv’d a wicked wife,
And she has ta’en the gee, man,
The door barring caus’d the strife,
And Sandy o’er the lee, man;
Tarry woo frae Tweedside came,
Frae Aberdeen cauld kail, man,
Made gude Scotch broser to fill our wame,
Could Donald McDonald fail, man.
Should auld acqaintance be forgot,
Sae merry’s we hae been, man;
Yet still on Mcanie’s charms I doat,
At Polwart on the green, man;
Willie was a wanton wag,
And push’d about the jorum,
While Rab the Ranter burrt his bag,
Playing the Reel of Tullochgorum.
