The sneeshin' mull is fine, my friens—
The sneeshin' mull is gran';
We'll teukta hearty sneesh, my friens,
And pass frae han' to han'.
When man first fan the want o' claes,
The wind an' cauld to fleg.
He twisted roon' about his waist
The tartan philabeg.
An' music first on earth was heard