SUNDAY DRINKING
Woe unto you, ye Sunday breakers,
Ye wild, marauding, heartless wreckers
O’ the Sabbath day;
Spite o’ the parson’s earnest preachin’
An’ a’ your mither’s hamely teachin’
Ye’re gey faur astray.
Ilk Sunday morn, wi’ sic fearfu’ din,
That seems tae you tae be nae sin,
Ye weet yer mou’
In the famous howff near Cum’erlan’ Mill,
In high class style ye drink yer yill,
Till stoitin’ fu’.
Ye harum-scarum thochtless chiels,
Gin Clootie catch ye by the heels
He’ll stap the tide.
He’ll quickly spoil your drinkin’ game,
An’ cast ye in tae sic a flame,
An’ tan yer hide.
Gin I yer drinkin’ sprees could check,
Ye ne’er wad drink anither peck,
Tho’ ye’d kneel an’ pray,
I’d pass a Sunday Closing bill,
Ye ne’er wad taste anither gill,
On the Sabbath day...
