Come, bonnie lass, lie near me,
And let the brandy cheer ye,
For the road frae Fife to Falkirk's lang
And cold and wet an' weary.
My trade, it is the weaving
At the bonnie toon o' Leven;
An' we'll drink to the health o' the fairmer's dames
Who'll buy oor cloth the morn
For ye can see them a', the lads o' the fair,
Lads frae the Forth an' the Carron Water,.
Workin' lads an' lads wi' gear,
Lads would sell ye the provost's dochter,
Sogers back frae the German Wars,.
Peddlers up by the Border;
An' lassies wi' an eye for mair than the kye,
At the trystin' fair o' Falkirk
Come, Geordie, houd the pony for the path is steep an' stony,
An' we're three lang weeks frae the Isle o' Skye.
An' the beasts are thin an' bony.
We'll tak the last o' the siller.
An' we'll buy oorsels a gill or two;
An' we'll drink tae lads who'll buy oor kye.
In Falkirk toon the morn.
Stan here an' I'll show ye, there's the toon below ye,.
But ye'd best bide here in the barn the nicht
For the nichtwatch dinna know ye.
Ma brither, he's a plooman an' I'm for the feein' noo, man;
Sae we'll drink tae the price o' the harvest corn
In Falkirk toon the morn
O, the wark o' the weaver's over, likewise the days o' the drover,
An' the plowboy sits on the tractor noo, too high tae see the clover,
The workin's no so steady, but the lads are aye still ready.
For tae drink a health tae the workin' man in Falkirk toon the morn.