Sax month come Martinmas, I feed in Turra toon
They said I wis the brawest chiel in a the country roon.
Wi a ring-dum-day, a ring-dum-day
Ring-dum- a-diddle, come a dandy-a.
Aul WuIlie feed me, an Robbie niver spoke,
Tae come an ca the second pair at the Hash a Bennygoak.
Oor foreman's like a bobby, he niver fa's asleep,
It's up an doon the lang rigs, he niver slacks a theet.
The second billie, that's masel, I ca a pair a broons,
Raisin ragnails on the foreman's heels, I fairly keep my roons.
The third he comes fae Foggieloan, an he's a pintit chiel,
His horse an his harness they're aye lookin weel.
Syne wi hiv an orraman, he seldom ca's the ploo,
There's aye plenty orra jobs, an fyles some neeps tae poo.
Sharny-taes the baillie, he's a sturdy chiel,
It's roon aboot the kittly nouks he gars the barra reel.
Wullie rises in the mornin an gaes the door a crash,
Howls oot aneth his 'picky-say', 'I think we'll hae a thrash!'
'It's a you jolly horsemen, ye'll gang tae the plao,
The orra man tae ca the neeps, an Sharny full an ploo.'
Noo Robbie his a brither, he's vrang amun the feet,
Tae see him knipin roon the close, twid nearly gar ye greet.
Syne he his a sister, an she's perjink an neat,
Bit, faith, she keeps the kitchie billies unco scant a mait.
We hiv a gallant kitchie deem, her name is Bessie Broon,
Twid fairly tak a saiddle girth her middle tae gang roon.
The author a this canty lay, ye'll wint it the be known,
Jist spier ye at the herrin boats at the Pier o Foggieloan.