I am from Massachusetts,
The land of the sacred cod,
There the Adamses snub the Abootts
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I am from Massachusetts,
The land of the sacred cod,
There the Adamses snub the Abootts
And the Cabots walk with God.

May the hinges of friendship never rust, or the wings of luve
lose a feather.

May the hinges of friendship never rust, or the wings of luve
lose a feather.

I come from good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where Cabots speak read more

I come from good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where Cabots speak only to Lowells,
And the Lowells speak only to God.

Some hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, read more

Some hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.

My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea:
But, before I go, read more

My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea:
But, before I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee!

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of read more

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

A health to the nut-brown lass,
With the hazel eyes: let it pass.
. . . .
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A health to the nut-brown lass,
With the hazel eyes: let it pass.
. . . .
As much to the lively grey
'Tis as good i' th' night as day:
. . . .
She's a savour to the glass,
And excuse to make it pass.

Weren't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit read more

Weren't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit fell,
'Tis to thee that I would drink.

Here's to old Adam's crystal ale,
Clear sparkling and divine,
Fair H2O, long may you flow,
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Here's to old Adam's crystal ale,
Clear sparkling and divine,
Fair H2O, long may you flow,
We think your health (in wine).