The wind, the wind, the wind blows high,
The rain comes sparkling from the sky,
[A girl’s name] says she’ll die
For a lad with a rolling eye.
She is handsome, she is pretty,
She is the flower of the golden city.
She’s got lovers one, two, three.
Come, pray, and tell me who they be.
[A boy’s name] says he’ll have her,
Some one else is waiting for her.
Lash the whip and away we go
To see Newcastle races, oh.
—Tyrie (Rev. W. Gregor).
[Another version after—
—— says he’ll have her,
is—
In his bosom he will clap her.]
[Another one after—
She has got lovers one, two, three,
continues—
Wait till He will ride her in his giggie.
Lash your whip and away you go
To see Newcastle races, O!]