TIBBY Fowler in the Glen,
Has o'er mony wooing at her,
Tibby Fowler in the Glen,
Has o'er mony wooing at her.
Wooing at her powing at her,
Courting at her, cannae get her;
Filthy elf, its for her pelf,
That a’ the lads are wooing at her.
She has good studs in her lugs,
Cockle-shells wou'd suit her better,
High-heel'd shoon an ailler tags,
And a' the lads are powing ⟨⟩ her.
Ten came east and ten came west,
And ten came rowing o’er the water,
Twall came down the Lang Dykeside,
There'a twa an’ forty wooing at her.
If a lass be ne’er sae black,
Gi'e her but the penny siller,
Set her upo’ Tintock-tap,
The wind will blaw a man till her.
If a last be ne’er sae fine.
Gin she want the penny siller,
She may scan' till ninety-nine
Ere there come a man till her.
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