The Banff and Buchan Collection

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Tape 1993.002 transcription

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Come a ye jolly plooman lads that work amon the grun;
Come listen tae ma story if ye wint tae hae some fun.
I'm nae as young as I yaist tae be, some say I've hid ma fling
Bit I feel jist lik a five year aul fin I begin tae sing.

Wi a lalta-faloora-lido, a toora-loora lay,
I'll ca your horse, I'll sort yer nowt, I'll big a ruck o strae.
I'm as happy's a lark frae dawn tae dark an singin a the day,
O lalti-faloora-lido, toora-loora lay.

At Ellon fee'in market, come listen tae fat I say:
A farmer speirt if I could work his pair a ten oors day.
An if I could fu muck wi a man, he fairly gar't me gape.
Says I, "Ma mannie, faur I cam fae, we full muck wi a graip"!


I bothied for a sax-month at a place they ca Balcairn,
Fin I gaed hame the bothy lads, they teuk me for a bairn,
Wi horny hands they ett biled spuds, the bothy fleer wis happit,
Wi ma shaurnie beets, I trampit ae spud, says, "I like mine best chappit".


The day I merrit Mary Anne, I got most awfa fu .
Fin the minister started tae tie the knot, there wis a how d'ye do.
He says, "What is your name my man, an have you got the ring?"
But ye shid hae seen the mannie's face, fin I began tae sing.


Charlie bade be 'imsel in ae ramshackle bucht
An is kelp a brave face cockit up tae the draucht,
Far he keepit some deuks and a litter o swine
An a half dozen stirkies, eneuch o the kine.
Noo his plaicie wis teenin fae headdir and faun
Just a forty-odd acre o marginal grun.
For essentials o life whiles fell short in supply,
Bit he takint his bilt and he seemed tae wun by.

He'd a wee Davie Broon, near as aul as himsel,
Like the rest o his implements, wisnae great deal.
She'd a pyoakerin host, she was seldom withoot,
In a neuk fae her in timmers sair needin oot.
O modren conveniences Charlie hed neen;
His hoose wis peat reekit, his furniture deen.
He'd a wireless fur comp'ny, a telly fur licht
An a muckle caff bed far e sleepit a nicht.
Noo e none? fur a bath or tae sweel oot his sark,
He'd tae pail/pill water in fae a wall in the park.
In loche twis a soft file should nature require
For the loo wis ootside at the gair[?] o the byre.

Hiv ye nae hid eneuch o't his freens files wid speir,
Bit twis hard tae give up fit he'd vrocht forty year.
He'd jist trauchle awa wi't as lang's he wis fit,
For he thocht he'd ane year or twa left in 'im yit.
But aul age creepit on, he grew short in the step,
Nae able tae hannle a spaad or a graip
Till his plaicie it wisnae bein workit at a
An wi naeb'dy tae leave't till, he slippit awa.

It's noo saiven years since it last saw a ploo,
An I winner fit Charlie wid think o it noo.
For his park is araw in a sorrafu state
With a healt[?] laain? back fat what was eence riven fate.
Bit if rumour be true it'll nae be lang bare
And ye seen winna ken it hid ivver been there,
Fur the forestry's bulldozed his steadin an hoose
Tae make wey fur the plantin o larick an spruce.

We maun gyang wi the times, if we want tae survive;
Aul weys are redundant fooivver we strive.
Charlie's aul fashioned methods are lang oot a date
In a warld far we're socht tae grow mair and mair maet.
Bit a change for the better, I'm nae gyan tae say
Cause it's gien's a grain mountain, as weel as the spray.
An the lord alone knows, if they'll ivver get things richt
For ye've farther tae fa, fin ye're flee a great hicht.
Ye're a gey daud tae fa, fan ye're flee a great hicht.


Fin first I tried a tune on ma faither's violin,
Wi a dee-a-doo-a-daurna-diddle-i-dum-do,
A' ma fowk were at the kirk on bonnie sabbath morn,
Fin I straikit on 'is fiddle wi the aul man's bow.
Took a twiddle at the strings, syn put the fiddle tae ma chin,
Wi a mind tae keep the Sabbath, so I thocht I'd try a hymn,
Bit I got an affa squeek, nae a dee nor daurna-diddle
As I straikit on 'is fiddle wi de aul man's bow.

First the wee ginger cat jeukit in below the mat
Wi a dee-a-doo-a-daurna-diddle-i-dum-do,
Syn the dog he raised his jowl an let oot a waefae howl
And he droon't oot a the squeekin fae the aul man's bow.
Syne I tried tae tak ma tempo fae the wag upon the wa,
But ma Sankey soondit aafa like 'The Turkey in the Straw',
So I tried anither key, bit the squeek got waur than ivver,
As I straikit on 'is fiddle wi the aul man's bow.

Noo I ken gey weel foo tae cure a squeekin wheel
Wi a dee-a-doo-a-daurna-diddle-i-dum-do,
An I thocht tae masel, says I, there maun be somethin gettin dry,
So I doot we'll need tae lubricate the aul man's bow.
So I lookit in the cubby-hole at's in below the stair,
In the box ahin the tractor, bit there wis nae ony there.
Syne I lookt a ower the place, bit the ile hid gan a missin
So I rubbed a clort a butter on the aul man's bow.

Took a twiddle at the strings, syn put the fiddle tae ma chin
Wi a dee-a-doo-a-daurna-diddle-i-dum-do,
Bit alas for ma tune, ye could hae heard a drappin pin,
For there wisnae aiven a whisper fae the aul man's bow.
Bit I vrocht upon that fiddle like a jiner wi a saw,
Till the blobs [laughs] a Orkney butter fairly stoatit aff the wa
Bit I nivver got a dee, nor a doo, nor daurna-diddle
As I straikit on 'is fiddle wi the aul man's bow.

Syne the kirk fowk cam in an I got skelpit for ma sin,
Wi a dee-a-doo-a-daurna-diddle-i-dum-do,
An 'ey played me sic a tune as I cudna weel set doon
But I min't aboot the butter on the aul man's bow.
Bit I'm feenished wi the fiddle noo, withoot the slightest doot,
If I lairn anither instrument it's gan tae be the flute,
An fin strangers come tae visit an they mak the introductions,
I'm the lad that put the butter on the aul man's bow.

Fin a laddie jist new left the skweel I vrocht on granda's craft,
Though harlie fit tae lift the sculls, I wis sae young and saft.
I lairned tae hyowe and pu the neeps, tae bin an stook as weel
And in springtime wi a horse an cart, spread muck in ilkie dreel.

The tie wis left and wish wis wrecht and waur the hame's were worn
Tae bin[?] the kye at milkin time and gie the horse their corn
An syne at nicht fin work wis deen wi their lamps a trimmed and lichtit,
Wi the shaurn scrapit aff wir sheen and faces washt and dichtit.

Oh I sat an listened tae granda's tales o fairmin lang ago,
Of hoo he yokit a the clips fin fee'd at Lingen Bow[?]
Of hoo he and his boss chased oot, yet aye wis socht tae bide,
As term time cam roon again when foreman at Kirkside.

I jist sat there listenin fair enthralled tae all the ferm lore,
Till grannie's heid began tae nod, she hed heard it a afore.
Syne pit oot intae the chaumer bed tae dream that when a man,
That I'll be as teugh and fu o pith as granda if I can,
That I'll be as teugh and fu o pith as granda if I can.

Fin I wis only ten years aul I left the pairish skweel.
Ma fader fee'd me tae the Mains tae chaw milk an meal.
I first got on ma nairra breeks tae hap ma spinnle trams,
Syne buckled roon ma knappin knees a pair o nicky tams.

It's first I got on fur baillie loon, an syne I got on fur third,
An syn of course I hid tae get the horseman's grip an wird,
Wi a loaf o breid tae be ma piece, a bottle fir drinkin drams;
Aye, ye cannae gang throu the caff-hoose door withoot yer nicky tams.

The fairmer that I'm wi ae noo, he's wealthy bit he's mean:
Though corn's chape, his horse is thin and his harness fairly deen.
He gars us load wir cairts ower fu , his conscience his nae qualms;
Aye fin breist straps brak, there's naethin like a pair o nicky tams.

I'm coortin bonnie Annie noo, Rab Tamson's kitchie dame;
Aye she is five and forty and I'm jist saiventeen.
She clorts a muckle piece tae me, wi different kinds a jam
An tells me ilkae nicht that she admires ma nicky tams.

I startit oot ae Sundae till the kirkie for tae gyang.
Ma collar it wis unca tight, ma breeks were neen ower lang.
I hid ma bible in ma pooch, likewise ma book a psalms
Fin Annie roared, "Ye muckle gype, tak aff yer nicky tams".

So it's unca sweir I took them aff the lassie for tae please,
Bit aye ma breeks they lurkit up aroon aboot ma knees.
A wasp gaed trawlin up ma leg in the middle o the psalms;
Aye nivver again will I rade tae the kirk, withoot ma nicky tams.

I've afen thocht I'd like tae be a bobby on the force,
Bit maybe I'll git on the cars tae drive a pair o horse,
Bit fitivver it's ma lot tae be, the bobbies or the trams,
I'll ne'er forget the happy days I wore ma nicky tams.

[Trump/Jew's harp tunes.]

I'll swype the graip an bed the kye, tae keep them fine an clean
An tousel oot their bonnie tails, till they a look like a queen.
I'll gie them bits o ilecake an black trykle on their strae
An aye a shafe o corn fin it comes tae Hogmanay.
An the coggie will be winkin fu afore the idder's team;
The piggie in the milk-hoose will be lippin fu o ream.
And the kebbocks they'll taste sweeter than the honey o the bee,
Fin I am aince the orra loon at Mains o Pittendree.

I'll big ma cairt o slidderie shaves, I'll big it fine and square
An haud the corners braw weel oot an nivver turn a hair.
An ma load it winna look just like a craws nest in a tree,
Fin I am aince the orra loon at Mains o Pittendree.
Syn fan a the rucks are thackit and the rakin's in as well,
I'll set me doon afore a basin fu o meal an ale.
Syne I'll birl Jean the kitchie dame till she is like tae flee,
Fin I am aince the orra loon at Mains o Pittendree.

Then the corn shaves gang bummin throu James Calder's thrashin mull;
I'll haul awa yon stewie cap in a beezer o a scull.
I'll aet up all ma denner, stovies, ___, milk an kail
For weel I ken that slow at maet means slow at work as well.
Aye and aifter micht be puttin tae the mosit skill may nae
Tae set the peats in rickles on a bonnie simmer's day-
It's I'll nay licht ma pipe instead o workin for ma fee,
Fin I am aince the orra loon at Mains o Pittendree.

If fan I'm rowin oot the muck, I tummle ower a shaurnie neep
An lat the cowpit barra sklyter ben the slittery greep.
I'll nae spick back wi impidence if Mains git on tae me,
Or threatens me wi doon the road fae Mains o Pittendree.
Aye it's jist a fornicht noo or I maun leave the Memsie skweel
Guid fa yon sonsie wifie that his tried tae lairn me weel
Bit I'll maybe think upon 'er wi a tear drap in my ee,
Fin I am aince the orra loon at Mains o Pittendree,
Aye fin I am aince the orra loon at Mains o Pittendree.

The Tyrie springs fae Widdies and the Dour rins tae the sea.
Atween them lie the howes and knowes that mean a the world tae me.
The Tigris and Euphrates bounded Adam's bonnie bower;
My little Eden lies atween the Tyrie and the Dour.
There's top a Kenkyburtie? and Boyndlie's bonnie den,
Kirkmiles and Couterfarnie and Southside Argly Mains
The fine big hoose o Tyrie wi its millstane on the wa
And the airches tellin o a time fin five pairs steppit braw.

Gyang ower the mairchland crossroads, tak the road tae Killywharn,
Drive by the craft at Allen's Hill, ye'll welcome be I'se warn.
I'll speir ye at Mossgairry whaur the tracks tae Sauchen tree,
Syne haud awa be Memsie for the Mains o Pittendree.
Aroon Blackhills ye'll still see stooks set up tae twal o'clock,
For shelter till oot wintert nowt, ye'll ne'er beat Cairnie Knock,
Wi the Ribble Hills for background it's a land sair in itsel;
The scenes o Buchan beauty fit for Constable himsel.

There's music in the very dunt o wirds like ????

They'll send an echo throu ma hairt until ma hinmaist day.
Gin the drystane dykes o Tyrie cuid only spik they'd tell
O a land taen in and grun laid aff wi muckle darg an dell?
An mony a hoose an haudin fae hinstanes tae brides doonfall.
Held a faimilie thegither wi its peatstack and its wa
Noo there's many deserted and the chaumer lums are caul,
Fin little quines grow? grannies, ay and swappert lads grow aul
On Mormond top there's fairlies would hae made wir forebears glower,
But constant things, the sum o dee, o Tyrie and the Dour.
Aye but constant things, the sum atween the Tyrie and the Dour.

Wi the weather bein settled, ay the best it's been for weeks,
The grieve he said, "It's time ye lookit oot yer biggin breeks.
We'll get up gey sharp the morn, wi the risin o the sun
And get yokit tae the leadin fin the deow's aff the grun."
Fin the deow's aff the grun, fin the deow's aff the grun
And get yokit tae the leadin fin the deow's aff the grun.

Fin mornin come the hash wis on, we all were there tae yoke.
The lichtest forks were lookit oot, an cloos ae Glesca Jock.
The tractors got their petrol an their paraffin as weel
An wi files as muckle crankin as ye not a file tae queel.
Ye not a file tae queel, ay ye not a file tae queel,
An wi files as muckle crankin as ye not a file tae queel.

Tae save a the cornyard fae bein conaicht wi the wheat,
The grieve he threipit doon ma throat the wey I hid tae dee't.
Fin biggin rucks the rulin wis at ony ferm toon:
Ye maun aye keep up the hairtin o thill? water tae the foon.
The water tae the foon, the water tae the foon,
Ye maun aye keep up the hairtin o the water tae the foon.

We vrocht in strict rotation tae keep the biggin gyan,
In teemin in they corn yard there's a loadin on the lan.
An fan I biggit on a load, I took a lookie doon
Tae see ma ruck was risin right in gair a rickie doon.
Tae gair a rickie doon, ay tae gair a rickie doon
Tae see ma ruck was risin right in gair a rickie doon.

The forkers on the land were fresh, they shaves were fine an licht;
The bigger o the bogie wis files buried oot a sicht.
Fin 'e socht them tae slow doon a bit tae lat im get his win,
They answered, "A'm the fear o't, ye can aye tramp them in.
Ye can aye tramp them in, ye can aye tramp them in
They answered I'm the fear o't, ye can aye tramp them in."

An so the work continued for twa-three weeks ae nine.
We caad the crop fae dawn tae dark, fin the wither it wis fine,
Till a stappit corn yard took on a sheltered cozy air,
In contrast tae the parks a lookin caul, bleak an bare
Lookin caul bleak an bare, lookin caul, bleak an bare
In contrast tae the parks a lookin caul, bleak an bare

Syne I pairt fae Pairtrigs scriechen fae the rest amon the the neeps.
A silence settled ower the howe, twa hunner acre sleeps.
It's a sleep o short duration for that clippit gowd in view,
For come the spring, the stibbles they'll be happit wi the ploo.
They'll be happit wi the ploo, they'll be happit wi the ploo.
For come the spring, the stibbles they'll be happit wi the ploo.

Come a ye lads that follow the ploo,
A story true I'll tell tae you,
O some o the antics we go [pron. gow] through
At Sleepytoon i the mornin.

At five wir foreman jumps like a shot,
"Come on!" he cries fit a sleepyheided lot.
"Are ye a gan tae lie there till ye rot?"
At Sleepytoon i the mornin.

It's ower the close, we follow wir nose,
Intae the kitchen tae chaw wir brose;
Ferm chiels seldom need a dose
O castor ile i the mornin.

We'd scarcely laid wir brose cap by,
When ben the hoose he gies a cry,
An we've harly time wir pints tae tie
Till e's back till 'is horse i the mornin.

We hae a great muckle kitchie deem,
I'll sweer she's nearly auchteen stane.
The fire got kittled //fyke got kittled in een o 'er sheen,
Afore she got up ae mornin.

Wir baillie's sober, thin and sma,
Sideweys he's hardly seen at a
An he'll pu neeps wi ony twa
That ivver raise i the mornin.

Wir fairmer's name is Geordie Brown;
He's weel respeckit roon an roon,
Bit ye canna say the same o Mrs. Brown
Wi her scowlin face i the mornin.

She's a hungry haund, the fairmer's wife;
Ae ee looks at Forfar an the ither at Fife.
She's a face like a decanter an a nose like a knife
That wid hash one 'is neeps i the mornin.

Noo the daughther, ay she's nae sae bad;
It's jist aboot time she hid a lad.
I'm thinkin o maybe speirin at hir dad
Fir 'is daughther some fine mornin.

I been writin is strowd on the cornkist;
I'm the orra loon an I'll seen be missed.
If I dinna wint a wallop fae the foreman's fist,
That[?] total sum is our mornin.

[ Diddling.]

A wick afore the mull wis due the mannie gaed is roonds
Tae organise a squadie fae the neiperin ferm toon.
At shafin time an hairst time there wis aye a fair bit hash,
Bit a croonin culmination cam the day we hid a thrash.
Noo the mull she cam the nicht afore, she wis nair nor aften late
And we plowtert in the gloamin tae git her livelled aff an set,
Bit the mull men powkin here an there got a' thing sortit oot,
For a start the followin mornin fan the men cam in aboot.

Fin eence we got hir yokit she made a satisfyin soond;
On a quiet day the hummin o't wis heard for miles aroon,
Especially fin an untrimmed shafe complete wi band an knot [pron. not]
Made a rift[?] and gied a 'wump' as it gaed rummlin doon er throat.
Wi the neipers noo a' gaithered we hid fourteen o a crew;
Some were put tae haunle grain, some fork or big a soo.
Ae mull man did the feeding while the tedder gaed aroon,
Skittin ile in a the furlin bits tae keep er queelt doon.

Noo the forkers' work wis tirin, be it shaves or be it strae,
Bit it wis nae near sae hard is humphin corn bags a day.
Yon muckle thick half-quarter bags, they were fair designed for graft,
For they left ye shacky leggit or ye humphed them tae the laft.
The laftie stairs aboot some toons, they sometimes hid a ???;
They were awkward tae negotiate wi a bag upon yir back;
Some were nairra, some were neukit, but bi far the biggest flaw,
Wis the one in fower gradient that wis comin tae them a'.

Fin we lowsed an got the denner by the men fae ither toons,
For critical comparison set aff upon their roonds.
They raikit here, they haikit there, gied this an that a powk,
For there's aye great fascination wi the gear o ither fowk.
Syne a' thing weel teen through haun they stole back tae the barn,
Tae tak the weicht fae aff their legs and swap the latest yarn,
Bit they hidnae lang tae blether, for the mull resumed at een,
So they spralloched up and raxed themselves, tae start the aifterneen.

Twa wimmen at the lowsin kept the feeder weel supplied,
And a steady stour o grain that ran wis baggit aff and weighed,
Wi the fairmer in attendance wi a speculative ee,
He compleened aboot the quality, forbyes the quantity.
Wi the rucks weel by the easin vermin startit poppin oot,
Bit they jeukit quick back in again, wi bairns in het pursuit.
Little kennin that their hidey-holey widna laist for lang,
For there's nae a lot o shelter eence ye start the himaist gyang.

Fin the mull was through and roadit and the men hid worn awa,
An eerie kin a silence seemed tae settle ower a',
For the cornyaird it was nyakit wi the foons a' strippit clean
Jist a strae soo and a heap o caff tae show she'd ivver been.
The traivellin mullie's noo defunct, she's fairly oot a grace
An ye'll seldom see a gaithrin noo o folk aboot a place,
For the modren mull's a combine, wi a steerin wheel an gears,
But I sometimes think I hear her yet, a ghost o bygone years.
Aye, I sometimes think I hear her yet, a ghost o bygone years.

Come a' ye bonnie fisher lassies, come alang wi me,
Fae Cairnbulg an Gamrie an Inverallochie,
Fae Buckie an fae Peterheid an a the country roond;
We're awa tae gut the herrin, we're awa tae Yarmouth toon.

Ye rise early in the mornin, tak yer bundles in yer haun,
An be up the station early, ay ye'll surely hae tae stan.
Tak plenty o maet and a kettle for yir tea,
Or ye'll maybe dee o hunger on they wey tae Yarmouth Quay.

Aye come...

Noo the journey is a lang een, aye it taks a day or twa,
An fin ye reach yir lodgin sure it's soon asleep you'll fa,
An ye'll wauken e next mornin wi the sleep aye in yer ee,
An ging lookin for the guttin yards alang the Yarmouth Quay.

Aye come... ...fae Buckie an fae Aiberdeen...

Ye work fae early in the mornin tae files late intae the nicht,
An yer hans are cut an chappit an they look an affa sicht.
An ye greet like a bairn fan ye dip them in saut bree,
An ye wish ye were a thoosand mile awa fae Yarmouth Quay.

Aye come...

Noo there's coopers an there's curers, aye and buyers, cannie chiels;
There's lassies at the picklin and ithers at the creels.
Ye files wish the fish hid a been a' left in the sea,
By the time ye're finished guttin herrin on the Yarmouth Quay.

Oh come...

I hae guttit up in Lerwick, in Stornoway an Shields;
Worked alang the Humber mang the barrels and the creels.
Whitby and Grimsby, we've traivelled up an doon,
Bit the place tae see the herrin is the quay at Yarmouth toon.

Aye come...

At ae Mairtinmas term the grieve o the Drum,
Tappit me on e shooder and speired gin I'd come,
Tae work his first pair for a winter half-year,
Wi a big glaikit horse and a ringel ee'd mare.

There wis plenty o tools an the best o a squad,
An we've nivver putten oot fin the weather wis bad.
There wis a prize-takin bull and great thumpers o kye
An a bonnie young quine in e kitchie forbye.

So when used tae the horse and a nowt and a ploo,
And he held on a drink till I gey near got fu.
Syne aifter a ha'-dizen glaisses o rum,
Like a gowk I fee'd hame tae be foreman at Drum.

Ach I'll nivver forget the first nicht at e Drum,
In Losh I wished I nivver hid come.
There wis hardly a bowster tae haud up ma heid,
An the snores o de loon wid ha waukened the deid.

Noo the baillie wis big, he'd a bed till himsel,
An it wis jist as weel cause his feet hid a smell,
Lik a plate full o cheese, oh my, sic a hum;
There wis millions o fleas in e chaamer at Drum.

Syne the mear wis a kicker an files she rin aff,
An the horse wis as stiff 's an aul man wi a staff,
Bit Losh, ye should heard foo the gaffer cuid bum,
That day he fee'd me tae gang hame tae the Drum.

The milk it is blue an the porridge wis thin,
Like a curd in a bottle, aye willin tae rin.
An the breid wis sae teuch and the scones were sae raw,
Man it took near a yokin wir brakfast tae chaw.

An Bawbie the skivvy, she wis brosey and big,
She'd a glaik in ae ee and I'll swear she'd a wig.
Hir face an ir hauns were aye black as the lum,
Nae winner the lads widnae fee tae the Drum.

Ach I'll nivver forget the first nicht at e Drum,
In Losh, I wish I nivver hid come.
The grieve wis a twister, his wife nae half come.
Ach I'll aye rue the day I fee'd hame tae the Drum.

Twis at a certain fairm toon
On the windin Deveron-Plaidy border;
There lived an auld wifie ca'd Mrs. Greig-
An er servant lassies she kept in order.

Tow row row row, fal al de diddle irie
Fal al de diddle irie a tow row row.

Ilkae nicht afore she gaed til her bed,
She did look the hoose all over,
In case ony villain micht be there
And amongst them prove a rover.


Noo the lassies, they got fed up o this,
An a suit o men's clothes they procurèd,
An they hae made a man o strae,
An in aneath the bed he was buried.


Syne fan Mrs. Greig was gyaun her roonds
'Twis in aneath the bed she spied him,
"Come oot o that, ye villain," she cried,
"And dinna think ye're fae me hidin."


Syne the lassies they were putten up
Tae pull him oot fae faur he was lyin,
An the auld man placed at the fit o the stair
Tae cudgel him while from them flyin.


They hae teen him oot and laid him doon;
An the aul man he was for him ready,
But fin he lays on his stick sae hard
Baith his legs fell from his body.


Syne the lassies they baith got the seck,
For this ill deeds that they'd been doin,
And Mrs. Greig an her aul man
Wis left to gaither his body thegither.


Noo Mrs. Greig an her aul man,
The young coortin laddies they did nae them bother.
For fin he lays on his stick sae hard
Perhaps he'll maybe slay some other.



I am a muller tae ma trade and that fu weel ye ken o.
I am a muller tae ma trade and that fu weel ye know.
I am a muller tae ma trade an mony a bow o meal I've made
An coorted mony a weel-faured maid amon the bags o meal o.

Oh it's merrily gangs the wheels aroond that grin the corn tae meal o.
It's merrily gangs the water wheel that maks the milly go.
Oh merrily gangs the wheels aroon and fin the corn's dryin soon,
I'm the happiest man for miles aroon amon the bags o meal o.

Aye it happent on a ___ ae nicht whin I was jist ma leen o.
It happened on a ___ ae nicht fin ma lassie she passed by
An aye she steppit ower the lin she heard the mullie's clatterin din
She sweetly cried, "May I come in tae shelter fae the rain o"?

Says I, "Ma lass ye're welcome here tae shelter fae the rain o".
Says I, "Ma lass ye're welcome here, come in an dry yir claes".
Says I, "Ma lass ye're welcome here, for I hae things o you tae speir.
Will ye consent tae be ma dear, amon the bags o meal o"?

That nicht she named a weddin day, amon the bags o meal o.
That nicht she named a weddin day and ne'er will I forget,
The weddin day is passed lang syne an we hae noo three bairnies fine.
At an aunterin time we deave them tine, amon the bags o meal o.

Bit ma freens if ye'll excuse me noo, ma hauns are gettin sair o.
Ma freens if ye'll excuse me noo, for I'll hae tae gyang.
Ma freens if ye'll excuse me noo, ma hauns are gettin black an blue,
So noo I'll bid ye a adieu, and fat d'ye think o ma sang, ay fat dae ye think o ma sang?


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