We are parting now for ever,
In the days of ‘Auld Lang Syne,’
We oft have parted company,
But thro’ no fault of thine.
’Twas never fault of thine, old friend,
When at blackthorn, wall, or dyke,
I left thy soft, brown pigskin
For a ditch that I didn’t like.
But now thou’rt going to be sold, old friend,
And I never may see thee more,