Classic Poem

Chorus

The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow;
I think my wife will end her life,
Before she spin her tow. —

I bought my wife a stane o' lint,
As gude as e'er did grow;
And a' that she has made o' that
Is ae poor pund o' tow. —
The weary &c.

There sat a bottle in a bole,
Beyont the ingle low;
And ay she took the tither souk,
To drouk the stourie tow. —
The weary &c.

Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!
She took the rock, and wi' a knock,
She brak it o'er my pow. —
The weary &c.

At last her feet, I sang to see't,
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe;
And or I wad anither jad,
I'll wallop in a tow. —
The weary &c.