I never was in her house in my life,
But once or twice for a penorth of barm.
Thou art a liar, said little Billy,
As sure as thou’rt on thy knees at prayer:
Did’nt I catch thee in bed with my mother,
And did’nt I tumble thee down the stairs.
Thou art a liar, says Mess John,
Thou shalt be whipp’d with a rod of birk;
And shalt be set in the stocks to morn,
For telling such lies o’ the kirk.