Page:Bennachie budget.pdf/8



What’s brewed an’ stilled maun aye be swilled,

Your drouth we ne'er despise, mani;

An’ thanks we’ll vent, since Parliament

O’er Bailies set th’ Exciseman.

Chorus—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’,

Nor like to gang, the wise man;

While drink can rax spontaneous tax,

The State will back the Exciseman.

The Bailiehood, in bardach mood,

May gie their wigs a hyse, man,

An' daur our youth to sloke their drouth,

As we had nae Exciseman.

Chorus.—He nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.

But dames an’ chiels may crack their heels,

An’ hooch till morn surprise men;

An’ never fear, they’ll want the gear,

As lang’s we’ve kind Excisemen.

Chorus.—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.

Tho’ Temp’rance sends her tonguey friends

The Trade to stigmatise, man;

Yet Bailies’ power to stint your hour

Is Baffled by th’ Exciseman.

Chorus.—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.

Then dance an’ drink, till doon ye clink,

Nor schape in haste to risé, man;

An’ for the joys o’ midnight ploys,

Drink “Luck to the Exciseman!”

Chorus.—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.