News, Lassies, News
There’s news, lassies, news,Gude news I’ve to tell!There’s a boatfu’ o’ ladsCome to our town to sell.
Chorus—The wean wants a cradle,And the cradle wants a cod:I’ll no gang to my bed,Until I get a nod.
Father, quo’ she, Mither, quo she,Do what you can,I’ll no gang to my bed,Until I get a man.The wean, &c.
I hae as gude a craft rigAs made o’yird and stane;And waly fa’ the ley-crap,For I maun till’d again.The wean, &c.