by Robert Burns
Ye jovial boys, who love the joys,
The blissful joys of lovers,
And dare avow wi’ dauntless brow,
Whate’er the lass discovers;
I pray draw near, and you shall hear,
And welcome in a frater,
I’ve lately been in quarantine,
A proven fornicator.
Before the congregation wide
I pass’d the muster fairly,
My handsome Betsy by my side,
We gat our ditty rarely.
My downcast eye, by chance did spy
What made my mouth to water,
Those limbs so clean, where I between,
Commenced a fornicator.
Wi’ ruefu’ face, and signs o’ grace,
I paid the buttock hire;
The night was dark, and thro’ the park,
I couldna but convoy her.
A parting kiss, what could I less;
My vows began to scatter,
Sweet Betsy fell, fal, lal, de ral,
And I’m a fornicator.
But by the sun and moon I swear,
And I’ll fulfill ilk hair o’t,
That while I own a single crown,
She’s welcome to a share o’t.
My roguish boy, his mother’s joy,
And darling of his pater,
I for his sake, the name will take,
A hardened fornicator.
About the Author:
Robert Burns (1759 – 1796) was a Scottish poet and a lyricist.