Bully Stot

CHORUS:  Bully Stot's i' the jail,
         Bully Stot's i' the jail;
         Rowt the news ower hill and dale,
         Bully Stot's i' the jail.

Bully Stot can bend a lance,
Imitate the folk of France,
Cares no a birse for Queen or law,
Fain wad whuff our Kirk awa;
Sends for priests just for to mock,
Wiser far than wiser folk:
Robin, swing your gospel flail!
Bully Stot's i' the jail!

Bully Stot's deep daub'd in law,
Shews our failings to a flaw,
Rents a house, yet winna pay,
Swears the rights o' priests away;
At prayers bravely he can rant,
Raves like ony Free-Kirk saint;
Crook your haugh and drink your ale,
Bully Stot's i' the jail.

Bully Stot is never slack
To cock his crest and ca' the crack,
Patronises lawless meetings,
Prayers lang and market greetings:
Honest folk he fain wad see
Drown'd a' in the saut saut sea,
Shoves his tongue in a' our kail,
Bully Stot's i' the jail.

Bully Stot is fou o' grace,
Hings a sentimental face!
Has a tongue ne'er dowff nor lame,
Auld Reekie, trumpet out his fame:
Tell the world o' a' his waes!
The martyr'd saint to heaven raise!
Angels, come in coat-o-mail,
Bring the worthy out o' jail!

Lock shure your door, pit out the fire,
Set a watch upon your byre,
Ane's gat out that should be in!
Watch the loon through thick and thin,
Lunt a blaze on ilka height,
Scan the comers day and night,
Tie a last upon his tail,
Bully Stot's out the jail.

CHORUS:  Bully Stot's out the jail,
         Bully Stot's out the jail;
         Rowt the news ower hill and dale,
         Bully Stot's out the jail.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin