You’re lookin’ for the lad.
(They winna stint their prattlin’ talk—
Oh, but her eyes are sad!—
Tis vain to cherche the fammy here,
I’ll gang and speer the lad.)
Why prop ye up the wa’, laddie,
Why prop ye up the wa’?
Your lissom shoes are stickit oot,
Ye’ll gar the dancers fa’.
Or feckless couples tearin’ past,