Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Collection of ancient and modern Scottish ballads, tales, and songs > Volume 2

344
'riie bauld Pitcur fell in a fur^
An' Clavers gat a clankle^ O ;
Or I had fed an Atliole gled
On th' braes o' Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, S^cc.
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AWA, WHIGS, AWA !
Aw A, Whigs, aw a I
Awa, Whigs, ama !
Ye're but a pack o' traitor loiins,
Yell do nae gude at a'.
Oiir thrisles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonnie bloom'd our roses.
But Whigs cam like a frost in June,
And wither'd a' our posies.
Awa, Whigs, &c.
Our ancient crown's fan in the dust,
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ;
And write his name in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't,
Arva, WhigSj &c.
Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving ;
The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse.
And we hae done wi' thriving.
Awa, Whigs, &c.
Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap.
But we may see him wauken :
Gude help the day, when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin !
Awa, Whigs, &c,