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Chorus
Green grow the rashes O,
Green grow the rashes O,
The lasses they hae wimble bores,
The widows they hae gashes O.
1
In sober hours I am a priest;
A hero when I'm
tipsey, O;
But I'm a king and ev'ry thing,
When wi' a wanton
Gipsey, O.
Green grow &c.
2
'Twas late yestreen I met
wi' ane,
An' wow, but she was gentle, O!
Ae han' she pat roun' my cravat,
the tither to my p--------- O.
Green grow &c.
3
I dought na speak--yet was na
fley'd--
My heart pay'd duntie, duntie, O;
An' ceremony laid aside,
I fairly fun' her
c-ntie, O.--
Green grow &c.
Multa desunt--
Poem Index
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