A Fragment

written in 1786

Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O, The lasses they hae wimble bores, The widows they hae gashes O. In sober hours I am a priest; A hero when I'm tipsey, O; But I'm a king and ev'ry thing, When wi' a wanton Gipsey, O. Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O, The lasses they hae wimble bores, The widows they hae gashes O. 'Twas late yestreen I met wi' ane, An' wow, but she was gentle, O! Ae han' she pat roun' my cravat, The tither to my penis O. Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O, The lasses they hae wimble bores, The widows they hae gashes O. I dought na speak - yet was na fley'd My heart play'd duntie, duntie, O; An' ceremony laid aside, I fairly fun' her cuntie, O. Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O, The lasses they hae wimble bores, The widows they hae gashes O.