For Geordy aw’d die, for my loyalty’s trig,
And aw own he’s a geud leuken mannie;
But if wor Sir Matthew ye buss iv his wig,
By gocks, he wad just leuk as canny.
’Bout Lunnun, &c.
Ah hinnies! about us the lasses did loup,
Thick as curns in a spice singin hinnie;
Some aud, and some hardly flig’d owr the doup,
But aw kend what they were by their whinnie:
A’, mannie, says aw, ye hev mony a tite girl,