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GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O.
There nought but care on every hand,
In every hour that passes, O.
What signifies the life o' man
And 'twere na for the lasses, O
Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O,
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,
I spent amang the lasses, O.
The warldly race may rich chase,
And riches still may flee them, O
And though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
But give me a caunle hour at een,
My arms about my dearie O
And warldly cares and warldly men,
May s' gae tapsalteerie O.
For you see douse, who sneer at this,
Ye're neught but silly asses, O;
The wisest man the world e'er saw,
He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.
