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Whene’er the totums cry for meat,
She curses ay his cogie;
Crying, “Wae betide three-gird cog,
“Oh wae betide the cogie,
"It does mair skaith than a’ the ills,
“That happen in Stra’bogie.”
She curses ay his cogie;
Crying, “Wae betide three-gird cog,
“Oh wae betide the cogie,
"It does mair skaith than a’ the ills,
“That happen in Stra’bogie.”
She fand him ance at Willie Sharp’s;
And, what they maist did laugh at,
She brake the bicker, spilt the drink,
And tightly gowff’d his haffet.
Crying, “Wae betide the three-gird cog,
“Oh, wae betide the cogie!
“It does mair skaith than a’ the ills,
“That happen in Stra’bogie.”
And, what they maist did laugh at,
She brake the bicker, spilt the drink,
And tightly gowff’d his haffet.
Crying, “Wae betide the three-gird cog,
“Oh, wae betide the cogie!
“It does mair skaith than a’ the ills,
“That happen in Stra’bogie.”
Yet here’s to ilka honest soul,
We’ll drink wi’ me a cogie;
And for ilk silly whingin fool,
We’ll duck him in a bogie.
For I maun hae my cogie, Sirs,
I canna want my cogie;
I wadna gie my three-gird cog,
For a’ the queans in Bogie.
We’ll drink wi’ me a cogie;
And for ilk silly whingin fool,
We’ll duck him in a bogie.
For I maun hae my cogie, Sirs,
I canna want my cogie;
I wadna gie my three-gird cog,
For a’ the queans in Bogie.
THE TIPPLING FARMER.
Good ale comes and good ale goes,
Good ale gart me sell my hose,
Good ale gart me sell my hose,
