Since early yestere’en.
You beat the bush from peep of light,
And set the whins afire;
And now the tory is in sight,
You’ve got your heart’s desire.
Davy Daw, Davy Daw, for a crab well-browned
In the smiling flood of a cruiscin drowned.
Give me, sirree, my crab and ale,
And bog or batter, my heart won’t fail!
The sun is out, and Davy’s up,