the weary pund o' tow

    chorus.—the weary pund, the weary pund,

    the weary pund o' tow;

    i think my wife will end her life,

    before she spin her tow.

    i bought my wife a stane o' lint,

    as gude as e'er did grow,

    and a' that she has made o' that

    is ae puir pund o' tow.

    the weary pund, c.

    there sat a bottle in a bole,

    beyont the ingle low;

    and aye she took the tither souk,

    to drouk the stourie tow.

    the weary pund, c.

    h i, for shame, ye dirty dame,

    gae spin your tap o' tow!

    she took the rock, and wi' a knock,

    she brak it o'er my pow.

    the weary pund, c.

    at last her feet—i sang to see't!

    gaed foremost o'er the knowe,

    and or i wad anither jad,

    i'll wallop in a tow.

    the weary pund, c.