 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
MY LOVE, SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET
Chorus
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
I rue the day I sought her, O!I rue the day I sought her, O!
Wha gets her need na say he's woo'd,
But he may say he has bought her, O.
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II
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 ye will,
But here I never missed it yet.
III
We're a' dry wi' drinkin o't,We're a' dry wi' drinkin o't!
The minister kiss't the fiddler's wife—
He could na preach for thinkin o't!
Chorus
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!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |