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â’¼ THIS IS PUBLISHED IN ITS ORIGINAL FORM AND CONTAINS VERY STRONG LANGUAGE

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Near Tweedmouth town there liv'd three maids,
Who used to tope good ale;
An' there likewise liv'd three wives,
Who sometimes wagged their tale;
They often met, to tope an' chat,
And tell odd tales of men;
Crying, when shall we meet again, an' again,
Crying, when shall we meet again.

Not far from these there liv'd three widows,
With complexions wan an' pale,
Who seldom used to tope an' bouse,
An' seldom wagged their tale.
They sigh'd, they pin'd, they griev'd, they whin'd,
An' often did complain,
Shall we, quo they, ne'er sport or play
Nor wag our tails again, an' again.
Nor wag our tails again.

Nine northen lads with their Scots plaids,
By the Union, British call'd,
All nine-inch men, to a bousing came,
Wi' their brawny backs I'm tald.
They all agreed, to cross the Tweed,
An' ease them of their pain;
They laid them all down,
An' they fucked them all round,
An' cross'd the Tweed again, an' again.
An' cross'd the Tweed again.

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