Allister M'Allister (1823, Stirling)/Allister M'Allister

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see Allister M'Allister.

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ALLISTER M'ALLISTER.

O Allister M'Allister,
Your chanter sets us a' astir,
Then to your bags, and blaw wi' bir,
We'll dance the Highland fling.
Now Allister has tun'd his pipes,
And thrang as bum bees frae their ykes,
The lads and lasses loup the dykes,
And gather on the green.
O Allister McAllister. &c.

The miller Hab was fidging fain
To dance the Highland fling is lane,
He lap as high as Elspa's wame,
The like was never seen
As round about the ring he whuds,
And cracks his thumb, and shakes his duds,
The meal flew frae his tale in cluds,
And blinded a' their een.
O Allister M'Allister, &c.

Neist rackle-handed smiddy Jock,
A' blacker'd o'er wi' coom and smoke,
Wi' shachlin blear-e'ed Bess did yoke—
That slaverin gabbit quean.
He shook his doublet in the wund,
His feet like hammers strack the grund,
The very moudiwarts were stunn'd,
Nor kend what it could mean.
O Allister M'Allister, &c.

Now wanton Willie was nae blate,
For he got haud o' winsome Kate,
Come here quo' he I'll shew the gate
To dance the Highland fling.
The Highland fling he danc'd wi' glee,
And lap as he were gaun to flee
Kate bak'd and babb'd sae bonnilie,
And tript it neat and clean.
O Allister M'Allister,&c.

Now Allister has done his best,
And weary houghs are wantin rest,
Besides they sair wi' drouth were strest,
Wi' dancing sae, I ween,
I true the gantrees gat a lift,
And round the bicker flew like drift,
And Allister that very night
Could scarcely stand his lane.
O Allister M'Allister,
Your chanter sets us a' astir,
Then to your bags and blaw wi' bir,
We'll dance the highland fling.