Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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MY WIFE'S AYE TIPPLIN'. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
194
MY WIFE'S AYE TIPPLIN'.
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife's aye tipplin' when I'm awa frae hame.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Their cursed tipplin' aye mak's a waefu' hame.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |