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.