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O Gat ye me wi' naething

Gat ye me, O gat ye me, An' gat ye me wi naething A rock, a reel, a spinning wheel, A gude black cunt was ae thing. A tocher fine, o'er muckle far, When sic a scullion gat it; Indeed, o'er muckle far gudewife, For that was ay the fau't o't. But had your tongue now, Luckie Lang, O had your tongue and jauner, I held the gate till you I met, Syne I began to wander; I tint my whistle an' my sang, I tint my peace an' pleasure; But your green grave now, Lucky Lang, Wad airt me to my treasure.


Cal Macaninch

About this work

This is a poem by Robert Burns. It is read here by Cal Macaninch.

Themes for this poem

woman class

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