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My Love, She's But A Lassie Yet

     My love, she's but a lassie yet,
     My love, she's but a lassie yet;
     We'll let her stand a year or twa,
     She'll no be half sae saucy yet;
     I rue the day I sought her, O!
     I rue the day I sought her, O!
     Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd,
     But he may say he's bought her, O.

     Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
     Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
     Gae seek for pleasure whare you will,
     But here I never miss'd it yet,
     We're a' dry wi' drinkin o't,
     We're a' dry wi' drinkin o't;
     The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife;
     He could na preach for thinkin o't.

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