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News, Lassies, News

     There's news, lassies, news,
     Gude news I've to tell!
     There's a boatfu' o' lads
     Come to our town to sell.

     Chorus—The wean wants a cradle,
     And the cradle wants a cod:
     I'll no gang to my bed,
     Until I get a nod.

     Father, quo' she, Mither, quo she,
     Do what you can,
     I'll no gang to my bed,
     Until I get a man.
     The wean, &c.

     I hae as gude a craft rig
     As made o'yird and stane;
     And waly fa' the ley-crap,
     For I maun till'd again.
     The wean, &c.