Send a horse to the water, ye 'll no mak' him drink
Send a fule to the college, ye 'll no mak' him think;
Send a craw to the surgin, an' still he will craw;
An' the wee laird had nae rummelgumpshion ava;
Yet he is the pride o' his fond mother's e'e;
In body or mind nae faut can she see;
"He's a fell clever lad an' a bonnie wee man,"
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
An' oh, she's a haverin' Lucky, I trow,
An' oh, she's a haverin' Lucky, I trow.