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 I’ll tak my fiddle in my hand, (stand,

And screw the strings up while they

To mak a lamentation grand,

On gude auld Highland whisky, O.

When Kimmer and I were groom and

bride,

We had twa pint stoups at our bed-side;

Sax times fu’ and sax times dry,

And raise for drouth, my kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I gade to the fair,

Wi’ twal pund Scots in sarking to ware;

But we drank the guid brown hawkie

dry,

And sarkless hame cam Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I gade to the town,

For wedding breeks and a wedding gown

But the sleek it auld priest he wat our eye

In sackcloth gowns—my Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I mana tak the Beuk,

Wi’ a twal pint stoup in our peat neuk,

Ere the psalm be done, the dish is dry,

And drouthelie pray my Kimmer an’ I,