tented wi' little and tie wi' mair
tune—“lumps o' puddin'.”
tented wi' little, and tie wi' mair,
whene'er i father wi' sorrow and care,
i gie them a skelp as they're creeping ang,
wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld scottish sang.
chorus—tented wi' little, &c.
i whiles cw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
but man is a soger, and life is a faught;
my mirth and gude humour are in my pouch,
and my freedom's my irdship nae monarch dare touch.
tented wi' little, &c.
a townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa',
a night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a':
when at the blythe end o' our jour st,
wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
tented wi' little, &c.
blind ce, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
be't to me, be't frae me, e'ehe jade gae:
e ease, or e travail, e pleasure or pain,
my warst word is: “wele, and wele again!”
tented wi' little, &c.