Tullochgorum (Glasgow)/Tullochgorum

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see Tullochgorum (Skinner).

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Tullochgorum

Come gie’s a sang, the lady cried,
And lay your disputes all aside;
What nonsense is’t for folks to chide
For what’s been done before them.
Let whig and tory all agree,
Whig and tory, whig and tory,
Let whig and tory all agree,
To drop their whigmegorum.
Let whig and tory all agree
To spend the night wi’ mirth and glee,
And cheerfu’ sing alang wi’ me
The Reel of Tullochgorum.

Tullochgorum’s my delight,
It gars us a’ in ane unite,
And ony sumph that keeps up spite,
In conscience I abhor him:
Blithe and merry we’s be a’,
Blithe and merry, blithe and merry,
Blithe and merry we’s be a’,
To mak a cheerfu’ quorum;
Blithe and merry we’s be a’,
As lang as we hae breath to draw,
And dance, till we be like to fa’,
The Reel of Tullochgorum.

There needs na be sae great a phrase
Wi’ dringing dull Italian lays;
I wadna gie our ain strathspeys
For hauf a bunder score o‘m.
They‘re dowff and dowie at the best,
Dowff and dowie, dowff and dowie,
They’re dowff and dowie at the best,
Wi‘ a‘ their variorum:
They‘re dowff and dowie at the best.
Their allegro’s, and a‘ the rest,
They canna please a Highland taste,
Compar‘d wi‘ Tullochgorum.

Let warldly minds themselves oppress,
Wi‘ fear o‘ want, and double cess,
And silly sauls themselves distress,
Wi‘ keeping up decorum.
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Like auld Philosophorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi‘ neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
And canna rise to shake a fit
To the Reel of Tullochgorum?

May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest-hearted open friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,
Be a’ that’s gude before him!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
May peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties a great store o’m:
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain’d by any vicious blot!
And may he never want a groat
That’s fond of Tullochgorum.

But for the discontented fool,
Wha wants to be oppression’s tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,
And blackest fiends devour him!
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
And honest souls abhor him:
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
And a’ the ills that come frae France,
Whae’er he be that winna dance
The Reel of Tullochgorum.

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