Robert Burns

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony,
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither--
They had been fou for read more

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony,
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither--
They had been fou for weeks thegither!

There's some are fou o' love divine,
There's some are fou' o' brandy.

There's some are fou o' love divine,
There's some are fou' o' brandy.

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
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Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin' through the rye
. . . .
Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body
Need a body cry?

G-- knows I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I even the thing I could be,
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G-- knows I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I even the thing I could be,
But twenty times I rather would be
An atheist clean,
Than under gospel colours hid be,
Just for a screen.

Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a' kennin' wrang
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Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a' kennin' wrang
To step aside is human.