Contented Wi' Little And Cantie Wi' Mair

Tune—"Lumps o' Puddin'."

     Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,
     Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care,
     I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang,
     Wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld Scottish sang.
     Chorus—Contented wi' little, &c.

     I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
     But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught;
     My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,
     And my Freedom's my Lairdship nae monarch dare touch.
     Contented wi' little, &c.

     A townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa',
     A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a':
     When at the blythe end o' our journey at last,
     Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
     Contented wi' little, &c.

     Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
     Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
     Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain,
     My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!"
     Contented wi' little, &c.