My love, she’s but a lassie yet,My love, she’s but a lassie yet;We’ll let her stand a year or twa,She’ll no be half sae saucy yet;I rue the day I sought her, O!I rue the day I sought her, O!Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d,But he may say he’s bought her, O.
Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet,Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet,Gae seek for pleasure whare you will,But here I never miss’d it yet,We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t,We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t;The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife;He could na preach for thinkin o’t.