Green Grow the Rashes

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;. . .