We're aw met thegither here tae sit an tae crack wi oor glesses in oor haunds an oor wark upon oor back thare's no a tred amang thaim coud naither mend nor mak Gin it wisna for the wark o the weavers
Gin it wisna for the weavers whit wad thay dae? thay wadna hae the claes made o oo Thay wadna hae a coat, na, naither black nor blue Gin it wisna for the wark o the weavers
Thare's some fowk's independent o ither tredsmen's wark For weemen needs nae baurber an dykers needs nae clerk but thare's no ane o thaim but needs a coat an sark Thay aw need the wark o the weavers
Oor sodgers an oor sailors, o't, we mak thaim aw bauld but gin thay haed nae claes faith thay coudna fecht for cauld The heich an the laich, the rich an the puir, awbody young an auld Thay aw need the wark o the weavers
Thare's smiths an thare's wrichts an mason chields an aw Thare's doctors an meenisters an thaim that leeves by law An aw oor freends ootower the sea in Sooth Americae Thay aw need the wark o the weavers
The weavin is sae guid a tred as niver yet can fail Sae lang as we need claith tae keep anither hale sae lat us aw be merry ower a bicker o guid ale An drink tae the heal o the weavers
O aw the treds that A dae ken The beggin is the best For whan a beggar's weary He can aye sit doun an rest
Tae the beggin a will gae, will gae Tae the beggin A will gae (2x)
Afore that A dae gang awa A'll lat ma beard growe lang An for ma nails A winna pare For beggars weirs thaim lang
Syne A'll tae a cobbler An gar him mak ma shuin Wi twa-three inches roond-aboot An clootit weel abuin
An A'll gang tae a hatter an gar him mak a hat Wi twa-three inches roond-aboot Aw sheenin ower wi fat
Gin thare's a waddin in the toun A'll airt me tae be thare An poor ma kyndest benisons Upon the happy pair
An some will gie me beef an breid An some will gie me cheese An roond-aboot thae mairiage fowk A'll gaither the bawbees
Gin beggin be sae guid a tred as A maun howp mey It's time A wis oot o here An haudin doun the brae
A maid gaed tae the mill by nicht / hey, hey sae wanton A maid gaed tae the mill by nicht / hey, hey sae wanton she She swuire by aw the stars sae bricht That she wad get her corn grund / she wad get her corn grund Mill an moutur free
Than oot on cam the miller's lad He swuire he'd dae the best he can For tae get her corn grund
He pit his airms aboot her neck He laid her doun upon a seck An thare she gat her corn grund
Whan three lang months wis past an gane this lassie she grew pale an wan for gettin her corn grund
Whan nine lang months wis past an gane this lassie haed a braw young son For gettin aw her corn grund
Her mither bad her cast it oot It wis the miller's stourie cloot For gettin her corn grund
Her faither bad her keep it in It wis the chief o aw her kin For gettin aw her corn grund
Whan ither maids gaed oot tae play She grat an saucht an wadna say acause she gat he corn grund
A fair maid she gaed up the street, some white fish for tae buy An a bonny clerk's fell in luve wi her, an he's follaed her by an by
O whaur leeve ye ma bonnie lass, a pray ye tell me true An tho the nicht be e'er sae mirk, A will come an veesit you
Ma faither locks the door at nicht, ma mither keeps the key An tho ye warna sic a rovin lad, ye canna win in tae me
But the clerk he haed a young brither, an a wylie wicht wis he An he's made a lang ledder, wi thritty staps an three
He's made a cleek bit an creel, an the creel's pit on a preen An he's awa tae the chimley tap, an he's lattin the bonny clerk in
Nou the auld wife coudna sleep thon nicht, tho late wis the oor A'll lay ma life, says the silly auld wife, thare's a man in oor dochter's bouer
Raise up, raise up ma guidman, an see gin this be true Gin ye're wantin raisin, raise yersel, A wiss the auld chield haed you
Than up she raise an doun she gaes, an in tae the creel she flew An the clerk's brither at the chimley tap, he fund that the creel wis fou
He's hault her up, he's hault her doun, he's gien her a richt doun-faw Till ilka rib in the auld wife's side, played knick-knack on the waw
Och help me nou ma auld guidman, och help me nou ma dou For him that ye wissed me wi this nicht, A think he's gotten me nou
Gin Auld Nick haes catcht ye nou, A wiss he'll haud ye fest For atween ye an yer ae dochter, a niver gat ony rest
Gin ye'll mairy me lass, at the kirk o Burnie Bouzle till the day ye dee lassie, ye will ne'er repent it Ye will weir whan ye are wad, a kirtle an a Hieland plaid An sleep upon a heather bed, sae couthy an sae canty
Ye will gang sae braw, lassie, tae the kirk o Burnie Bouzle Little brogues an aw, lassie, vou, but you'll be canty Yer wee bit tocher is but smaw, but hodden-gray will weir for aw A'll sauf ma siller for tae mak ye braw an ye will ne'er repent it
We'll hae bonny bairns an aw, some lassies fair an laddies braw Juist like thair mither ane an aw, an yer faither he's consentit A'll hunt the otter an the broch, the hert, the hare an heather cock A'll pou ye lempets frae the rock, tae mak ye dishes denty
Last nicht A dreamt a dreamy dream A dreamt it ance afore A dreamt that oor guidman wis chased By the gaugers frae Drummore
Nou Willie rade his auld gray meir He rade till the brak o day Cryin 'lassie, lassie, gaird yersel' For thare's gaugers on the wey
The gaugers cam intae the hoose Thay gaed richt up the stair Thay gaed intae the faither's room An thay fund the bottles thare
Thay poued the blankets frae the bed Thay poued thaim on the fluir till Maggie she cam rinnin ben Sayin 'ye buggers heid for the door'
The gaugers thay hae taen the road that leads back tae Drummore Whan Sawny gat the bottles oot sayin 'mak a baurel mair'
Nou Willie Callum made the lum He made it stoot an strang That it wad staund the weir an teir An mak the dooble strang
sae come aw ye Kincardine lads An come awa wi me An we'll awa tae Sawny's still An drink the baurley-bree
In ahint yon auld fail dyke, A wit thare ligs a new slain knicht; An naebody kens that he ligs thare, But his hawk, his hoond an leddy fair.
His hoond is tae the huntin gane, His hawk tae fesh the wild-foul hame, His leddy's taen anither mate, Sae we mey mak oor denner sweet.
Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, An A'll pyke oot his bonny blue een; Wi ae lock o his gowden hair we'll theik oor nest whan it growes bare.
Mony ane for him maks mane, But nane sall ken whaur he is gane; Ower his white banes, whan thay are bare, The wind sall blaw for ivermair.
The oreeginal wis written by Adam Skirving but haes sin syne been eikit tae an chynged by mony sindry fowk.
Sir John Cope rade the nor' richt faur, Yet ne'er a rebel he cam naur, Till he laundit at Dunbaur, Richt early in the mornin
Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye wauken yet, Or are ye sleepin A wad wit; haste ye yet up for the drums dae beat, fey Cope raise in the mornin.
He wrat a challenge frae Dunbaur, Come an fecht me Chairlie gin ye daur; Gin it binna be the chance o war A'll gie ye a merry mornin.
Whan Chairlie leukit the letter upo' He drew his swuird the scabbart frae - Sae heiven restore tae me ma ain, A'll meet ye, Cope, in the mornin.
Cope swuir wi mony a bluidy wird That he wad fecht thaim gun an swuird, But he fled frae his nest lik a frichtent bird, An Johnnie he teuk the weeng in the mornin.
But whan he seen the hieland lads Wi tartan trews an white cockauds, Wi swuirds an guns an rungs an gauds, Johnnie, he teuk weeng in the mornin.
Sir Johnnie intae Berwick rade, Juist as the deil haed been his guide; Giein him the warld he wadna steyed Tae fochten the boys in the mornin.
Says Laird Mark Car, ye arena blate, Tae bring us news o yer ain defeat; A think ye deser the back o the gate, Get oot ma sicht this mornin.