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 An’ Wattie he sat in the ale house,

and hard at the bicker did ca'

Sae nicely as Maggie sat by him ;

he took the pint-stoup in his arms;,

Quo’ he, I think they’re right saucy,

that lo’es na good father's bairns.

Sing fal de ral, la de.

But now it grew ia'e i' the eening,

and bughting time was drawing near;

The lasses had stanch'd a’ their greening,

wi’south o’ bra' apples and pears;

There's Tibbie, and Sibbie, and Lillie,

whaweel on the spindle can spin,

Stood glowring at sigs and glass winnocks,

but fiend a ane bade them come in.

Sing fal de ral, la de.

Gosh guides did you e’er see the like o't,

sea yonders a bonny black swan,

It looks as it fain wou’d be at us

what's yon that it has in it’s han’ ?

Awa’ daft gowk, quo Wattie,

it's nane but a rickle o’ sticks,

See here’s the deil and Beil Hawkie,

and yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick,

Sing fal de ral, la de.