  Hae ye heard o’ these wondrous dons, That make this mighty fuss, man, About invading Briton’s land? I vow they’re wondrous spruce, man: But little do the Frenchmen ken About our loyal Englishmen; Our collier lads are for cockades, And guns to shoot the French, man. Toll loll de roll de roll de roll. Then to parade the pitmen went, Wi’ hearts both stout and strong, man; Gad smash the French, we are so strang, We’ll shoot them ev’ry one, man: Gad smash me sark if I would stick To tumble them a’ down the pit, As fast as I could thraw a coal, I’d tumble them a’ down the hole, And close her in aboon, man. Toll loll, &c. Heads up, says one, ye silly sow, Ye dinna mind the word, man: Eyes right, says Tom, and wi’ a dam, And march off at the word, man: Did ever mortals see sic brutes, To order me to lift my kutes? Ad smash the fool, he stands and talks, How can he learn me to walk, That’s walk’d this forty year, man? Toll loll, &c. But should the Frenchmen shew their face Upon our waggon ways, man, Then there upon the road, you know, We’d make them end their days, man: Ay Bonaparte’s sel I’d take, And throw him in the burning heap, And with great speed I’d roast him deed; His marrows then I wad nae heed, We’d pick out a’ their een, man. Toll loll, &c. Says Willy Dunn to loyal Tom, Your words are all a joke, man; For Geordy winna hae your help, Ye’re sic kamstarie fowk, man: Then Willy lad, we’ll rest in peace, In hopes that a’ the wars may cease; But I’s gie ye, Wull, to understand, As lang as I can wield my hand, There’s nane but George shall reign, man. Toll loll, &c. Enough of this has shure been said, Cry’d Cowardly Willy Dunn, man; For should the Frenchmen come this way, We’d be ready for to run, man. Gad smash you for a fool, says Tom, For if I could not use my gun, I’d take my pick, I’d hew them down, And run and cry through a’ the town, God save great George our king, man. Toll loll, &c. |
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