Robert Burns

Our John's Brak Yestreen

Twa neebor wives sat i' the sun, A twynin' at their rocks, An' they an argument began, An' a' the plea was cocks. 'Twas whether they were sinnens strang, Or whether they were bane? An' how they row'd about your thumb, And how they stan't themlane? First, Raichie gae her rock a rug, An syne she claw'd her tail; "When our Tam draws on his breeks, It waigles like a flail". Says Bess, "they're bane I will maintain, And proof in han' I'll gie; For our John's it brak yestreen, And the margh ran down my thie".

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