II.

Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, They made our lugs grow eerie, O; The hungry bike did scrape and pike, 'Till we were wae and weary, O; But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd A prisoner aughteen year awa, He fir'd a fiddler in the north That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

* * * * *