Legal & Other Lyrics By George Outram: Containing a number of new pieces & fifteen illustrations by Edward J. Sullivan |
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 | Legal & Other Lyrics |  |
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JOHN AND JEAN
ANTENUPTIAL
JOHN SINGS OF JEAN
Bonnie Jeanie!
Artless Jeanie!
Rosy, cosy Jeanie!
Wert thou mine!
How wad I adore you!
What could I do for you!
Think on what I swore you—
See if I repine!
Artless Jeanie!
Rosy, cosy Jeanie!
Wert thou mine!
How wad I adore you!
What could I do for you!
Think on what I swore you—
See if I repine!
Try to vex me,
Pester or perplex me—
A' your little sex may,
To bother ane o' mine!
Wreck me—break me—
Lick me—kick me—
Only let me think, the
Wee bit foot was thine.
Pester or perplex me—
A' your little sex may,
To bother ane o' mine!
Wreck me—break me—
Lick me—kick me—
Only let me think, the
Wee bit foot was thine.
JEAN SINGS OF JOHN
When bonnie young Johnnie went over the sea,
He said there was naething he liket like me.
He sang an' he whistled while haddin' the pleugh,
Though of gowd an' of gear he hadna eneugh.
But noo he has gotten a hat an' a feather—
An' its hey! brave Johnnie, lad! cock up your beaver.
He said there was naething he liket like me.
He sang an' he whistled while haddin' the pleugh,
Though of gowd an' of gear he hadna eneugh.
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An' its hey! brave Johnnie, lad! cock up your beaver.
His kin are for ane o' a higher degree,
What has he to do wi' the like o' me?
Although I am bonnie, I amna for Johnnie,
An' werena my heart light I wad dee.
(Dreams.)
What has he to do wi' the like o' me?
Although I am bonnie, I amna for Johnnie,
An' werena my heart light I wad dee.
Lang hae we parted been,
Johnnie my dearie;
Noo we hae met again,
Laddie, lie near me!
Near me! (Suddenly wakening.)
Dear me!
Did ony ane hear me?
Could Johnnie been listenin'?
Dear me!—Oh dear me!
Johnnie my dearie;
Noo we hae met again,
Laddie, lie near me!
Near me! (Suddenly wakening.)
Dear me!
Did ony ane hear me?
Could Johnnie been listenin'?
Dear me!—Oh dear me!
POSTNUPTIAL
JOHN TELLS OF JEAN
Oh! what a deevil, a deevil, a deevil!
Oh! what a deevil is Jean!
The life o' a deevil I lead wi' the deevil,
An' she cares deevil a preen!
Oh! what a deevil is Jean!
The life o' a deevil I lead wi' the deevil,
An' she cares deevil a preen!
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She dauds wi' the poker, but no' at the coals,
Her tongue an' her temper are out o' a' rules;
She dings at my head wi' a dizzen o' shools,
And then she bawls out, “Mind your een!”
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
Her tongue an' her temper are out o' a' rules;
She dings at my head wi' a dizzen o' shools,
And then she bawls out, “Mind your een!”
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
She seizes the kail-pat, an' I get my share;
The stools spend the best o' their time in the air,
An' sittin' is no the right use for a chair,
As I an' my shattered banes ken.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
The stools spend the best o' their time in the air,
An' sittin' is no the right use for a chair,
As I an' my shattered banes ken.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
I never come right down my stair, stap by stap,
For she aye flings me head over heels frae the tap;
An' when I gang down wi' a horrible slap,
She bids me come soon back at e'en!
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
For she aye flings me head over heels frae the tap;
An' when I gang down wi' a horrible slap,
She bids me come soon back at e'en!
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
She plays at the ba' wi' my head every day,
An' when I fa' ower she cries out—Hurrah!
An' she's got a great cuddie-heel to her shae,
An' I've got a patch for my een!
O! what a deevil, &c.
An' when I fa' ower she cries out—Hurrah!
An' she's got a great cuddie-heel to her shae,
An' I've got a patch for my een!
O! what a deevil, &c.
It's a miracle she's murdered nane o' the weans,
For she plays rowley-powley wi' them at my shins,
An' she says that it's punishment for's a' at ance,
Like killin' twa dogs wi' ae bane.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
For she plays rowley-powley wi' them at my shins,
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Like killin' twa dogs wi' ae bane.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
I'm sae muckle accustomed to lounders and licks,
That when I'm asleep she canna wake me wi' kicks,
Though her fit is as heavy as baith o' Auld Nick's,
No countin' the weight o' her shoon.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
That when I'm asleep she canna wake me wi' kicks,
Though her fit is as heavy as baith o' Auld Nick's,
No countin' the weight o' her shoon.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
She dauds at me sae, that whate'er I may do,
I am ae single lump just a' through an' through,
An' every bit o' my body is blue,
Except twa three bits that are green!
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
I am ae single lump just a' through an' through,
An' every bit o' my body is blue,
Except twa three bits that are green!
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
JEAN REFLECTS ON JOHN
Oh! what a deevil, a deevil, a deevil,
Oh! what a deevil is John!
Dinna think me unceevil to ca' him a deevil.
Till ye hear how the deevil gans on.
Oh! what a deevil is John!
Dinna think me unceevil to ca' him a deevil.
Till ye hear how the deevil gans on.
He snuffs, an' he smokes, an' he drinks, an' he chews,
Till he's donnard, an' daised, an' ayont ony use;
An' how he whiles finds his way hame to his house,
Is to me just a phènomenon!
Oh! what a deevil. &c.
Till he's donnard, an' daised, an' ayont ony use;
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Is to me just a phènomenon!
Oh! what a deevil. &c.
He fa's on the stair, an' he coups o'er the weans—
It's a miracle he's broken nane o' their banes,
As he bangs at the wa', or clytes doun on the stanes
Wi' a weight that is twenty stane tron.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
It's a miracle he's broken nane o' their banes,
As he bangs at the wa', or clytes doun on the stanes
Wi' a weight that is twenty stane tron.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
An' when wi' a fecht I hae got him to bed,
He lies crookit, an' pu's a' the claes to his side;
An' he's got evermair sic a cauld in his head,
That the neb o' him rins like a rone,
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
He lies crookit, an' pu's a' the claes to his side;
An' he's got evermair sic a cauld in his head,
That the neb o' him rins like a rone,
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
When at last he's asleep, an' I'm just fa'in' o'er;
It wad be heaven's mercy if he'd only snore;
But he first gies a squeak—then a grunt—then a roar—
Like a bagpiper sortin' his drone.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
It wad be heaven's mercy if he'd only snore;
But he first gies a squeak—then a grunt—then a roar—
Like a bagpiper sortin' his drone.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
In the mornin', to rise to his wark he's sae laith,
I whiles think he's sleepin' the slumber o' death;
I've to kick and to paik till I'm clean out o' breath,
Eer I get him to cry out “Ohone!”
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
I whiles think he's sleepin' the slumber o' death;
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Eer I get him to cry out “Ohone!”
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
On pay-nights he'll come hame as white as a clout,
Wi' his hat a' bashed in, an' his pouch inside out;
An' afore I can ask him what he's been about,
He fa's down as flat as a scone.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
Wi' his hat a' bashed in, an' his pouch inside out;
An' afore I can ask him what he's been about,
He fa's down as flat as a scone.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
Just last Sunday morning—O sic a disgrace!—
The very policeman that took him up, says,
That he never saw, in the coorse o' his days,
Sic a shamefu' exposure as yon.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
The very policeman that took him up, says,
That he never saw, in the coorse o' his days,
Sic a shamefu' exposure as yon.
Oh! what a deevil, &c.
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