Green Grow the Rashes
There’s nought but care on ev’ry han’,
In ev’ry hour that passes O;
What signifies the life o’ man,
An’ ’twere na for the lasses O.
Green grow the rashes O,
Green grow the rashes O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses O!
The warly race may riches chase,
An’ riches still may fly them O;
An’ tho’ at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them O.
But gie me a canny hour at e’en,
My arms about my dearie O;
An’ warly cares, an’ warly men,
May a’ gae tapsalteerie O!
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye’re nought but senseless asses O:
The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw,
He dearly lov’d the lasses O.
Auld nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes O;
Her prentice han’ she tried on man,
An’ then she made the lasses O.