Lament for Abercrombie/Let Drunkards Sing

by unknown author

For other versions of this work, see Let Drunkards Sing.

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LET DRUNKARDS SING.

 

Let drunkards sing in praise o' wine.
 Their midnight balls and social glee,
But Scotia's sons may fidge fu' fain,
 While they hae routh o' barley bree.

French brandy is but trash, (shame fa't!
 Their foreign rum I downa pree;
Give me the sterling pith o' mau',
 Aboon them a' it bears the gree.

The workman wha has toil'd a' day,
 Sits down at night frae labour free:
See care is fled—his smile how gay,
 When owre a pint o' barley bree.

Gif ony ane in barlock-hood,
 Should wi' his neighbour disagree,
Let them baith gang in jovial mood,
 And settle't owre the barley bree.

For barley drink, wad they but think,
 Is cheaper than a lawyer's fee;
Tho' sairly vext, aye mind the text—
 It's best to take a pint and gree.

I've seen a chiel could hardly speak,
 When ne'er a drap was in his e'e,
But he could lecture for a week,
 Just gie him aye the barley bree.

When I've a bawbee in my pouch,
 I aften birl it frank and free:
Then care can never make me crouch,
 The life of man is barley bree.

 

FINIS.