Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
And 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, 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
Green grow the rashes, O;. . .
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow the rashes, 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.
Green grow the rashes, 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.
Green grow the rashes, O;. . .
