MY WIFE'S AYE TIPPLIN'.
[_]
AIR,—“A' nid noddin'.”
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife's aye tipplin' when I'm awa frae hame.
When we twa were married, she was a sonsy quean,
The rose was on her cheeks, and the diamond in her een;
Now she's wallow'd like a docken, and her een are blear'd and red,
For she lies, her drouth to slocken, wi' the bottle in her bed.
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife, in her tipplin', sees neither sin nor shame.
She wytes't upon the toothache, and on the stomach-cramp,
And aye on the rhumatiks, when the weather's cauld and damp;
But what or where the trouble is, between the tap and tae,
Nae potion and nae lotion she'll apply but usquabae.
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife's aye tipplin', and I get a' the blame.
When I come frae my wark at een I aft the fire get out,
And the weans, wi' cauld and hunger, are wheengin' a' about:
She drank the sow, she drank the cow, and syne she drank the horse;
She's drucken a' the siller done, and now she's pawn'd the purse.
My wife, wi' her tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife, wi' her tipplin', has made a doolfu' hame.
Some say I should gae leave her; but how can I do that,
Wi' five wee helpless bairnies, wha maun hae bit and brat?
And when, at times, she's sober, it brings across my min'
The glow o' love I bore to her in days o' langsyne.
O wad she drap her tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
O wad she drap her tipplin', 'twad mak' a heaven o' hame.
Ae truth I shall advance now, and bet my guid new spleuchan,
Ye'll get a cure for ilk disease within the boords o' Buchan;
But to reclaim a drucken wife wad gi'e the doctors wark,
For, when baith cash and tick are done, she'll pawn her hindmost sark.
O their cursed tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
Their cursed tipplin' aye mak's a waefu' hame.
