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Awa Whigs Awa

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Awa' Whigs Awa'

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Awa' Whigs Awa'
(Robert Burns)
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
   And bonie bloom'd our roses;
But Whigs cam like a frost in June,
   An wither'd a our posies.
Awa, Whigs, awa!
  Awa, Whigs, awa!
Ye're but a pack o traitor louns,
   Ye'll do nae guid at a'.

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust;
   Deil blin' them wi the stoure o't,
An  write their names in the black beuk
   Wha gae the Whigs the power o't!
& ch
Our sad decay in church and state
   Surpasses my descriving:
The Whig cam o'er us for a curse,
  An we hae done wi thriving.
& ch

Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap,
  But we may see him waukin:
Gude help the day when Royal heads
   Are hunted like a maukin!
& ch

tune: Awa whigs awa (303)
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