The Scots Reader — Tradeetional Sangs

© 1996 - 2024

The Scots Reader — Tradeetional Sangs

The Wark O The Weavers

We're aw met thegither here tae sit and tae crack
wi oor glesses in oor haunds and 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 and dykers needs nae clerk
but thare's no ane o thaim but needs a coat and sark
Thay aw need the wark o the weavers

Oor sodgers and oor sailors, o't, we mak thaim aw bauld
but gin thay haed nae claes feth thay coudna fecht for cauld
The heich and the laich, the rich and the puir, awbody young and auld
Thay aw need the wark o the weavers

Thare's smiths and thare's wrichts and mason chields and aw
Thare's doctors and meenisters and thaim that leeves by law
And 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
And drink tae the heal o the weavers

Tae The Beggin

O aw the treds that A dae ken
The beggin is the best
For whan a beggar's weary
He can aye sit doun and 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
And for ma nails A winna pare
For beggars weirs thaim lang

Syne A'll tae a cobbler
And gar him mak ma shuin
Wi twa-three inches roond-aboot
And clootit weel abuin

And A'll gang tae a hatter
and 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
And poor ma kindest benisons
Upon the happy pair

And some will gie me beef and breid
And some will gie me cheese
And 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
And haudin doun the brae

A Maid Gaed Tae The Mill

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 and 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
And thare she gat her corn grund

Whan three lang months wis past and gane
this lassie she grew pale and wan
for gettin her corn grund

Whan nine lang months wis past and 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 and saucht and wadna say
acause she gat he corn grund

A Keech In The Creel

A fair maid she gaed up the street, some white fish for tae buy
And a bonny clerk's fell in luve wi her, and he's follaed her by and by

O whaur leeve ye ma bonnie lass, a pray ye tell me true
and tho the nicht be e'er sae mirk, A will come and veesit you

Ma faither locks the door at nicht, ma mither keeps the key
And tho ye warna sic a rovin lad, ye canna win in tae me

But the clerk he haed a young brither, and a wylie wicht wis he
And he's made a lang ledder, wi thritty staps and three

He's made a cleek bit and creel, and the creel's pit on a preen
And he's awa tae the chimley tap, and 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, and see gin this be true
Gin ye're wantin raisin, raise yersel, A wiss the auld chield haed you

Than up she raise and doun she gaes, and in tae the creel she flew
And 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 and yer ae dochter, a niver gat ony rest

Burnie Bouzle

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 and a Hieland plaid
And sleep upon a heather bed, sae couthy and sae canty

Ye will gang sae braw, lassie, tae the kirk o Burnie Bouzle
Little brogues and 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 and ye will ne'er repent it

We'll hae bonny bairns and aw, some lassies fair and laddies braw
Juist like thair mither ane and aw, and yer faither he's consentit
A'll hunt the otter and the broch, the hert, the hare and heather cock
A'll pou ye lempets frae the rock, tae mak ye dishes denty

The Gaugers

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
And 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 and strang
That it wad staund the weir and teir
And mak the dooble strang

sae come aw ye Kincardine lads
And come awa wi me
And we'll awa tae Sawny's still
And drink the baurley-bree

The Twa Corbies

In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
A wit thare ligs a new slain knicht;
And naebody kens that he ligs thare,
But his hawk, his hoond and 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,
And A'll pike 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.

Johnnie Cope

The oreeginal wis written by Adam Skirving but haes sin syne been eikit tae and chinged 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 and 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 and swuird,
But he fled frae his nest lik a frichtent bird,
And Johnnie he teuk the weeng in the mornin.

But whan he seen the hieland lads
Wi tartan trews and white cockauds,
Wi swuirds and guns and rungs and 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.