The Auld Man鈥檚 mare鈥檚 dead
She was cut-luggit, painch-lippit,
Steel-waimit, staincher-fittit,
Chanler-chaftit, lang-neckit,
Yet the brute did die.
The auld man's mare's dead,
The poor man's mare's dead,
The auld man's mare's dead
A mile aboon Dundee.
Her lunzie-banes were knaggs and neuks,
She had the cleeks, the cauld, the crooks,
The jawpish and the wanton yeuks,
And the howks aboon her e'e.
The auld man's mare's dead,
The poor man's mare's dead,
The auld man's mare's dead
A mile aboon Dundee.
My Master rade me to the town,
He ty'd me to a staincher round,
He took a chappin till himsel,
But fient a drap gae me.
The auld man's mare's dead,
The poor man's mare's dead,
The peats and tours and a' to lead
And yet the bitch did die.
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Works read by Liam Brennan—The works of Robert Burns
All his recordings from the 250th anniversary project.
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