Robert Burns

The Trogger

As I cam down by Annan side, Intending for the border, Amang the Scroggie banks and braes, Wha met I but a trogger. He laid me down upon my back, I thought he was but jokin', Till he was in me to the hilts, O the deevil tak sic troggin! What could I say, what could I do, I bann'd and sair misca'd him, But whiltie-whaltie gae'd his arse The mair that I forbade him: He stell'd his foot against a stane, And doubl'd ilka stroke in, Till I gaed daft amang his hands, O the deevil tak sic troggin! Then up we raise, and took the road, And in by Ecclefechan, Where the brandy-stoup we gart it clink, And the strang-beer ream the quech in. Bedown the bents o' Bonshaw braes, We took the partin' yokin'; But I've claw'd a sairy cunt synsine, O the deevil tak sic troggin!

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