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Слушать(AI)Awa, Whigs
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AWA, Whigs, awa!
Awa, Whigs, awa!
Ye’re but a pack o’ traitor louns,
Ye’ll do nae good at a’.
Our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair,
And bonnie bloom’d our roses;
But Whigs cam’ like a frost in June,
And wither’d a’ our posies.
Our ancient crown’s fa’en in the dust-
Deil blin’ them wi’ the stoure o’t;
And write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o’t.
Our sad decay in Church and State
Surpasses my descriving;
The Whigs came o’er us for a curse,
And we hae done with thriving.
Grim vengeance lang has ta’en a nap,
But we may see him wauken;
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!
Awa, Whigs, awa!
Awe, Whigs, awa!
Ye’re but a pack o’ traitor louns,
Ye’ll do nae gude at a’.
