Green Grow the Rashes, O



cho: Green grow the rashes, O

Green grow the rashes, O

The lasses they hae wimble bores *

The widows they hae gashes, O.



In sober hours I am a priest,

A hero when I'm tipsy-O;

But I'm a king and ev'ry thing

When wi' a wanton gypsie, O.



cho:



'Twas laye yestreen I met wi' ane,

An' wow, but she was gentle, O

Ae han' she put roun' my cravat

The tither to my pintle, O.



cho:



I dought na speak -- yet was na fley'd

My heart play'd duntie, duntie, O

And ceremony laid aside

I fairly fun' her cuntie, O.



cho:



Note: Other versions replace last two lines of chorus with:

The sweetest bed that e'er I got

Was the bellies o' the lasses, O!



From Burns, Merry Muses of Caledonia (edited by Barke and Smith).

From ms. dated 1794

@bawdy @Scots

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