Classic Poem

Chorus

Green grow the rashes O,
Green grow the rashes O,
The lasses they hae wimble bores,
The widows they hae gashes O.

1

In sober hours I am a priest;
A hero when I'm tipsey, O;
But I'm a king and ev'ry thing,
When wi' a wanton Gipsey, O.
Green grow &c.

2

'Twas late yestreen I met wi' ane,
An' wow, but she was gentle, O!
Ae han' she pat roun' my cravat,
The tither to my p — — O.
Green grow &c.

3

I dought na speak — yet was na fley'd —
My heart play'd duntie, duntie, O;
An' ceremony laid aside,
I fairly fun' her c-ntie, O. —
Green grow &c.