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lyrics
By my faith , sirs , this canna lang dee , I'll hae to gie o'er and repent ; I've been sax weeks an ' mair on the gee . Till my very internals are rent .
Now , Landlord , ye'll just bring ae bottle , Ae bottle an ' I'll be content ; And to - morrow I'll join the teetottle , And in sackcloth and ashes repent .
My finances hae now fa'en so low , That I scarce hae a shilling to spare ; And my dudds are but just so an ' so , A sma ' thing the warse o ' the wear .
My friens are a praying and preaching , And bidding me turn and grow wise ; And yet a ' their wonderful teaching Seems but for the sake o ' advice .
Gif I ask ane's assistance in speaking , Man , how he'll blether and puff ; But if twa three bright Geordies I'm seeking , He'll shortly gae aff i ' the huff .
I admit that my conduct's been bad , But what can a poor body do ; Its surely nae use being sad , When ane can be blythe when he's fou .
There's a set o ' bright callant's ca’ed bards , Wha hae cost me mony a crown ; And yet I aye reap my rewards , When wi ' ane o ' the craft I sit down .
For they are the lads wha can crack ' Bout the kirk , the State , and the nation ; And e'en though I say't , ' tis a fact , They can point out the way to Salvation .
Though they had nae a saxpence but ane , Without e'er a grumble they'd spend it ; And to ease the distress o ' a frien ' , The coat aff their back they would lend it .
Yet in duty I'm bound to admit , That their follies are mair than they should be ; But then , their bright flashes o’wit Mak their follies thought less o ' than would be .
Then farewell , ye Knights o ' Parnassus , For a time I your haunts måun forsake , To dwell amang dunces and asses , Wha scarce can a joke gie nor take .
Then , Landlord , ye'll bring me a bottle , And for ance I'll gie care a bit kick ; And to - morrow I'll join the teetottle , And till’t like a bur I will stick
credits
from
águas brilhantes: 2018-2022,
track released September 20, 2022
Dave Edwards - banjo, vocal
Rhys Landon-Lane - classical guitar, vocal
Hans Landon-Lane - ukulele, vocal
John Collie (1834-1893) - lyrics
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