Green Grow The Rashes

There’s nought but care on ev’ry han’, In ev’ry hour that passes O; What signifies the life o’ man, An’ ’twere na for the lasses O.

Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O; The sweetest hours that e’er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses O!

The warly race may riches chase, An’ riches still may fly them O; An’ tho’ at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them O.

But gie me a canny hour at e’en, My arms about my dearie O; An’ warly cares, an’ warly men, May a’ gae tapsalteerie O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Ye’re nought but senseless asses O: The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw, He dearly lov’d the lasses O.

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes O; Her prentice han’ she tried on man, An’ then she made the lasses O.