Songs by Robert Burns

Bob Hay & the Jolly Beggars song book

Awa, Whigs, awa!

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair
and bonnie bloom'd our roses.
    C           G             Am
The Whigs cam' like a frost in June,
    C         G       Am
An' wither'd all our posies.

Awa, Whigs, awa!
Awa, Whigs, awa!
    C      G          Am
Yer but a pack o' traitor louns,
      F      E      Am
Ye'll do no good at all.

The sad decay in church and state 
Surpasses my descriving: 
The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse, 
An' we hae done wi' thriving. 

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust - 
De'il blin' them wi' the stoure o't! 
An' write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 

Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap, 
But we may see him wauken: 
Gude help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin!

De'il = devil
stoure = dirt
maukin = rabbit

Arrangement © 2004 Bob Hay (BMI). All Rights Reserved.