And I hate a false pretence,
And the want of common sense,
And arrogance, and fawning, and deceit, John Brown.
I love the meadow flowers,
And the briar in the bowers,
And I love an open face without guile, John Brown;
And I hate a selfish knave,
And a proud, contented slave,
And a lout who’d rather borrow than he’d toil, John Brown.
I love a simple song,