´óÏó´«Ã½

Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms:
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for
a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, the nice
yellow guineas for me.

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster the faster it grows;
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes,
Ilk Spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for
a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, the nice
yellow guineas for me.

And e'en when this Beauty your bosom has blest,
The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possess'd;
But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie impress'd,
The langer ye hae them, - the mair they're carest!

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for
a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, the nice
yellow guineas for me.

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