Oh, I am a country chappie, an Ah'm serving at Polnoon,
A wee bit fairm near Eaglesham, that fine auld-fashioned toon,
Whaur in the mornin early, a little efter three
We tak the road richt merrily, ma auld black horse and me.
Wi her cheeks red as roses an her e'en sae bonnie blue,
Glancin, entrancin, they pierced me through and throuh,
She fairly won ma fancy an she stole awa ma hert,
Drivin intae Glesga in ma soor mulk cairt.
The other mornin early, as the Borwee I did pass
I happened tae foregaither wi a nice wee country lass.
Says I "Ma bonnie lassie, if ye're gangin ower that airt
A'll drive ye intae Glasga in ma soor mulk cairt."
I raised her up beside me an we soon got on the crack
An wi a smile she told me that her name was Maggy Watt.
I telt the auld auld story while the woods around us rang
Wi the whistlin o the mavis and the blackbird's cheery sang.
I've heard o lords an ladies making love in shady bowers.
An how they woo'd an won amang the roses an the flowers.
But I'll ne'er forget the mornin wee Cupid threw his dart
And made me pop the question in the soor mulk cairt.
Since the lassie has consented gin next term-time comes roon
I mean tae buy a harness plaid an a bonnie silken goon.
We're settlin tae get mairret just aboot next August fair
When aa oor auld acquaintances we hope tae see them there.
She'd never had a hurl in a carriage aa her days
An so I did propose tae hae a coach and pair o greys,
But "Na, na," quo she, "The siller's scarce, ye ken we canna
An I'd raither hae a hurl in yer soor mulk cairt."