Up In The Morning

Up in the morning’s no’ for me, Up in the morning early; When a’ the hills are covered wi’ snaw, I’m sure it’s winter fairly.

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to wast, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shrill’s I hear the blast, I’m sure it’s winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A’ day they fare but sparely; And lang’s the night frae e’en to morn, I’m sure it’s winter fairly.