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THERE’S news, lasses, news, Gude news I’ve to tell! There’s a boat fu’ o’ lads Come to our town to sell. The wean wants a cradle, An’ the cradle wants a cod. An’ I’ll no gang to my bed Until I get a nod. Father, quo’ she, Mither, quo’ she, Do what ye can, I’ll no gang to my bed Till I get a man. I hae as gude a craft rig As made o’ yird and stane; And waly fa’ the ley-crap For I maun till’d again.
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