Contains some strong language

Andrew And His Cutty Gun


When a' the lave gaed to their bed, And I sat up to clean the shoon, O wha think ye cam jumping ben, But Andrew and his cutty gun. Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, Blythe was she but and ben, And weel she loved it in her neive, But better when it slippit in. Or e'er I wist he laid me back, And up my gamon to my chin, And ne'er a word to me he spak, But HI tit out his cutty gun. The bawsent bitch she left her whelps, And hunted round us at the fun, As Andrew dougled wi' his doup, And fir'd at me with his cutty gun. O some delight in cutty-stoup, And some delight in cutty-mum, But my delight an erselins coup, Wi' Andrew and his cutty gun. Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, Blythe was she but and ben, And weel she loved it in her neive, But better when it slippit in.

Listen

Gerda Stevenson

About this work

This is a song by Robert Burns. It is read here by Gerda Stevenson.

Themes for this song

bawdry seduction sex

Skip to top

BBC © 2014 The BBC is not responsible for the content of external sites. Read more.

This page is best viewed in an up-to-date web browser with style sheets (CSS) enabled. While you will be able to view the content of this page in your current browser, you will not be able to get the full visual experience. Please consider upgrading your browser software or enabling style sheets (CSS) if you are able to do so.