The Librarian's Song

There's nought but books in ilka hand,
Now ev'ry hour that passes O,
For ilka lad is readin mad,
Wi' bonny readin' lasses O,

CHORUS: Green grows the rashes O,
        Green grows the rashes O,
        A fig for a' your books sae braw,
        If it werena for the lasses O.

Lang may our brethren read an think,
An' act an' crack ay cautious O,
Till ilka line ay gar them shine,
An' ay respect the lasses O.

Lang may they thrive an' ay contrive,
To get baith books an' lasses O,
Our noble plan enlightens man,
An' maks him mair sagacious O.

We've books o' lair, Hume, Young an' Blair,
Wi' sermons snug to asses O,
Which surely suits lang lugged brutes,
That caresna for the lasses O.

Some says I ha'e a fickle job,
Baith troublesome an' fashious O,
To keep the books, but sweet's the looks,
That I get frae the lasses O.

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Music of Dalkeith
Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin