Robert Burns

There's hair on't

O' ere yestreen I stented graith, An' labor'd lang an' sair on't; But fient a work, na work wad it, There's sic a crap o' hair on't. There's hair on't, there's hair on't, There's thretty thrave an' mair on't; But gin I live to anither year, I'll tether my grey naigs on't. An up the glen there rase a knowe, Below the knowe a lair on't, I maist haed perish'd, fit an' horse, I could na see for hair on't. But I'll plant a stake into the flowe, That ploughmen mey tak care on't; An' lay twa steppin'-stanes below, An syne I'll cowe the hair on't.

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