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Robert Tannahill

 

 

                                                                               

 

 

 

 

 

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Air—“The Cameronian Rant.”

 

“Ah, feechanie ! they're no for me !
Guidwife, your herrin's stinkin;
O sic a smell ! just fin yoursel,
I weel coud ken them winkin.”
“The deevil dance your lady gab !
Gae doun the close, ye dirty drab !
They're caller fish, as ane can wish ;
She needna miss a dainty dish,
But, barmy jade ! she's winkin !”

 

“How daur you trow that I am fou,
Ye flounder-gabbit gipsy !
Set doun your creel, I'll gar you feel
I'm neither fou nor tipsy.”
“Gude trouth ! if I my creel set doun,
I'll wad my life tae hauf-a-croun
I'll gar ye yelp, like ony whelp,
An cry for help, wi skelp on skelp,—
I'll gie her hipsey-dixey!”

 

Tae fyle my han's wi sic as ye,—
Gude feth! I'll ne'er bemean me.”
“Weel, honest fouks, a this ye hear ?
It's mair than flesh an blude can bear.
I'll tell you what, ye birsie cat !
Tak that, an that, for a your chat ;
Now, tell what I hae gien ye !”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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