My friens ane an' a' I'll sing you a sang
If ye all haud yer weeshts it winna tak' me lang
It's aboot a mannie Kemp, he's a caird tongued fang
For he rages like a deevil in the mornin'.
He's a wee little mannie wi' a fern tickled face
A' the days o' yer life ye bever saw sic a mess
Ye wid swear he hid deserted frae some tinkler race
Afore they had got a' wakened in the mornin'.
At the Barnyards o' Beneuches he has long been a grieve
But come May the twenty sixth he has to pad, I believe,
For he's sieged at his men, till his maister's gien him leave
So he canna get them up in the mornin'.
But when he doth rise ye niver heard sic a soun'
For he'll siege you and damn you like ony dragoon,
His lang caird tongue you'd hear't roun' the toon
Afore he gets his breakfast in the mornin'.
Dinna gang to the Barns if ye wish to be weel
A' the days o' yer life ye ne'er saw sic a chiel
He'll treat you to a breakfast o' buttermilk an' meal
Wi' a drink o' soor ale in ther mornin'.
We get beef bree whiles weel seasoned wi' reek
Wi' three seeds o' barley an' the smell o' a leek
If you're nae pleased wi' that he'll neen o' yer cheek
But he'll put you frae his toon in the mornin'
But if e'er sic a thing as a row should arise
My friens ane an' a' tak tent an' be wise
Keep quietness ifyou can or the wife will rise
Dancin' mad on her stockin's in the mornin'.
'Twas ae mornin' in March juist as near as I can
She came swearin' fae the blankets we'd bad used her man
With her sark tail wiggle waggle into the close she ran
Dancin' mad on her stockin's in the mornin'.
For a lang caird tongue she's the worst that I ken
Lord bless me! Sic a mornin' may I never see again
Five or sax naked bairnies a'rinnin' but an' ben
Cryin', "Od mammie's mad in the mornin'.
Says she to the shepherd, "Ye're nae frien o' mine
For a'body kens ye're a caird Hielan' thing
Ye tauld 'em doon at Brunan I gaed milk tae the swine
An' you soor ale to your porridge in the mornin'.
But it's May the twenty-saxt will be here in a crack
An' we'll a' leave the Barns never mair to gang back
We'll gang blithely doon the road like an ill-tongued pack
Singin' Kempie he can follow in the mornin'.
Now my name I will reveal if sic thing I ever hid
It's but the country clype I'll ne'er deny, gweed forbid
My neighbors a' that ken me weel they ca' me Jock Wid
Sae we'll up an' leave the Barns in the mornin'.
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