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‹‹‹ prev (273) Page 157Page 157Old Scottish song

(275) next ››› Page 159Page 159Intriguing Irishman

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An' auld Robby Barber, auld Robby Barber,
An' auld Robby Barber, for we maun tell him.
O stay a wee, woman, an' tell it a' out.
They're bringing in black Popery, I fear an' I doubt,
An' a sad reformation, a sad reformation,
A sad reformation in a' the kirks about.
Muckle do they sae, an' mair may we fear;
The French an' the Spaniards are a' coming here :
An' we'll a' be murder'd, murder'd, murder'd,
An* we'll a' be murder'd, that's very clear.
But, for my part, I'm easy altho' they come the
morn,
I'll' gie them anither turn, for a' the nicks that's on
my horn,
For I'll no yield it, yield it, yield it,
For I'll no yield it to ony man bom.
Do ye no mind, just on this very floor,
When we ware a' reekit out to gang to Sherrie-muir,
Wi' stanes in our aprons, wi' stanes in our aprons,
Wi' stanes in our aprons, we did muckle dool, I'm
sure.
Eh ! wow, Marg'ret, was nae yon a gun ?
A tweel no, Elspit, it's me breaking win' ;
An' we're weel when we want it, want it, want it,
We're weel when we want it awa wi' little din.

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