Sit ye down here, my cronies, and gi’e us your crack,
Let the win’ tak’ the care o’ this life on its back,
Our hearts to despondency we never will submit,
For we’ve aye been provided for, and sae will we yet
Then bring us a tankard o’ nappy brown ale;
For to comfort our hearts and enliven the tale;
We’ll always be the happier the langer we sit,
For we’ve drank the gither mony a time, and sae will we yet.
Here’s a health tae the farmer, and prosper his plough,
Rewarded a’ his work and toiling a’ the year through!
For seed time and harvest we ever will get,
For we’ve lippen’d aye to providence, and sae will we yet.
So let the glass keep its course, and go merrily around,
For the sun has to rise, though the moon it goes down.
Till the house be rinnin’ roun’ about, it’s time enough to flit,
When we fell, we aye got up again, and sae will we yet.