O gin I lived i’ the gowden mune
Like the mannie that smiles at me,
I'd sit a’ nicht in my hoose abune
An the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune,
For I'd sup my brose wi’ a gowden spune
And they wad come out to see!
For weel I ken that the mune's his ain
And he is the maister there;
A’ nicht he's lauchin’, for, fegs, there's nane
To draw the blind on his windy-pane
And tak’ an’ bed him, to lie his lane
And pleasure himsel’ nae mair.
Says I to Grannie, “Keek up the glen
Abune by the rodden tree,
There's a braw lad‘ yont i’ the mune, ye ken.”
Says she, “Awa’ wi’ ye, bairn, gang ben,
For noo it's little I fash wi’ men
An’ it's less that they fash wi’ me!”
When I'm as big as the tinkler-man
That sings i’ the loan a’ day,
I'll bide wi’ him i’ the tinkler-van
Wi’ a wee-bit pot an’ a wee-bit pan;
But I'll no tell Grannie my bonnie plan,
For I dinna ken what she'll say.
And, nicht by nicht, we will a’ convene
And we'll be a cantie three;
We'll lauch an’ crack i’ the loanin’ green,
The kindest billies that ever was seen,
The tinkler-man wi’ his twinklin’ een
And the lad i’ the mune an’ me!