THE WEARY PUND O' TOW
Chorus
The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow!
I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.
I
I bought my wife a stane o' lint
As guid as e'er did grow,
And a' that she has made o' that
Is ae puir pund o' tow.
II
There sat a bottle in a bole
Beyont the ingle low;
And ay she took the tither souk
To drouk the stourie tow.
III
Quoth I:—‘For shame, ye dirty dame,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!’
She took the rock, and wi' a knock
She brake it o'er my pow.
IV
At last her feet—I sang to see't!—
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe,
And or I wad anither jad,
I'll wallop in a tow.
Chorus
The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow!
I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.
