Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Pocket songster, or, Caledonian warbler

OR, CALEDONIAN WARBLER. 271
I gang todlen butt, an' todlen ben,
An' cock up my nose 'mang the proudest
o' men.
Although fickle fortune, that blinkin'-like bitch,
Has kicket me out o' the hands o' the rich,
An' cauket me down in her freaks an' her fun,
To warsle through life wi' my nose to the grun,
I'll gang todlen butt, an' todlen ben,
An' I'll ne'er grudge a saxpence while I
hae it to spen'.
Yet I'm whiles gye an' chawt when 1 think on my
doom,
Wi' my auld tatter'd coat, an' my pouches but
toom ;
Yet I'll drown a' my care wi' the ither bit waught,
Wi' the stoup an' the cappie I'll feight this life's
faught.
I'll gang todlen butt, an' todlen ben,
An' it's nonsense to grudge if a body can
fen'.
Yet I'd fain be a laird, wi' a fine carpet room,
Wi' my ready bit saxpence under my thum' ;
They can drink wi' the best, an' puir bodies like
me.
Though the choiic shou'd 'tack us, can ne'er get a
pree.
Yet we'll gang todlen butt, an' todlen ben.
An' will aye be content wi' what fortune
will sen'.