AWA’ wi’ your witchcraft o’ Beauty’s alarms, The slender bit Beauty you grasp in your arms, O, gie me the lass that has acres o’ charms, O, gie me the lass wi’ the weel-stockit farms.
Chorus.—Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher, Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher; Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher; The nice yellow guineas for me.
Your Beauty’s a flower in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows: But the rapturous charm o’ the bonie green knowes, Ilk spring they’re new deckit wi’ bonie white yowes. Then hey, for a lass, &c.
And e’en when this Beauty your bosom hath blest The brightest o’ Beauty may cloy when possess’d; But the sweet, yellow darlings wi’ Geordie impress’d, The langer ye hae them, the mair they’re carest. Then hey, for a lass, &c.