Â鶹ԼÅÄ

â’¼ THIS IS PUBLISHED IN ITS ORIGINAL FORM AND CONTAINS VERY STRONG LANGUAGE

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O Wha'll mow me now, my jo,
An' wha'll mow me now:
A sodger wi' his bandileers
Has bang'd my belly fu'.

O' I hae tint my rosy cheek,
Likewise my waste sae sma';
O wae gae by the sodger lown,
The sodger did it a'.

Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer
O' mony a' saucy quine;
When, curse upon her godly face!
Her cunt's as merry's mine.

Our dame hauds up her wanton tail
As due as she gaes lie;
An' yet misca's a young thing,
The trade if she but try.

Our dame can lae her ain gudeman,
An' mow for glutton greed;
An' yet misca's a poor thing
That's mown' for its bread.

Alake! sae sweet a tree as love,
Sic bitter fruit should bear!
Alake, that e'er a merry arse,
Should draw a sa'tty tear.

But deevil damn the lousy loun,
Denies the bairn he got!
Or lea's the merry arse he loe'd
To wear a ragged coat!

O Wha'll mow me now, my jo,
An' wha'll mow me now:
A sodger wi' his bandileers
Has bang'd my belly fu'.

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