He couldna spell Imph-m, that stands for an A-y-e!
An’ when a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean—
O’ Avon’s braw lasses the pride an’ the queen—
When ’neath my gray pladdie, wi’ heart beatin’ fain,
I speired in a whisper if she’d be my ain,
She blushed an’ said, Imph-m,
That charming word, Imph-m,
A thousan’ times better an’ sweeter than A-y-e!
Just ae thing I wanted my bliss to complete—
Ae kiss frae her rosy mou’, couthie an’ sweet—