O Can Ye Labour Lee, Young Man
I fee'd a man at Martinmas, Wi arle pennies three; But a' the fau't I had to him, He coudna labour lee. O can ye labour lee, young man, O can ye labour lee; Gae back the road ye cam agin, Ye shall never scorn me. A stibble rig is easy plough'd, An' fallow land is free; But shat a silly coof is he, That canna labour lee. The pretty bush, an' benty knowe, The ploughman points his sock in, He sheds the roughness, lays it by, An' bauldly ploughs his yokin'.