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.