Edinburgh sketches & memories

by David Masson

When he’s passing by, the mithers will cry:—

‘Here’s an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod;

Here’s an ill wean, John Tod.’

The callants a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;

The callants a’ fear John Tod:

If they steal but a neep, the laddie he’ll whip;

And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod, John Tod;

And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod.

And saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?

O saw ye nae wee John Tod?