Bothy Ballad: The Muckin o Geordie’s Byre

Fan I fa tae lauchin I think on the scene,
Fan abody roon aboot cam ower tae clean,
But clairtit themsels richt up tae their een,
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.
The Rocher, Wee Wullikie, an Mickie Doo,
The auld wife hersel an Teeny MacCrew,
Wi dizzens o ithers that left aff the ploo,
For the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

Chorus:
0 siccan a sottar wis abody in,
Five mile aroon ye could hear the din;
Even the ferra coo started tae grin
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

The whisky gaed roon, Tammy fleein the doo
An aye as they drunk the mair they got fou,
The only eens sober the calf an the coo,
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.
Tammy roared oot ‘Ring the bell, noo, for mair.’
Syne ruggit the coo’s tail an pu’ed oot a hair;
Fan she kickit oot he gaed up in the air
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

The first on the beesom wis Teeny MacCrew
Sittin doon on the stibble end caase she wis fou,
And she kickit up sic a hullaballoo
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.
She yowled like ship in distress in a gale,
An aye on the sair bit Teeny wad wail;
Sae they bandaged her up wi her aul bridal veil
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

The bobby cam roon tae quell doon the soun,
The cratur got lost far the rucks hae their foun,
He fell intae the midden an wis likely tae droon
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.
The wecht o him syne sent the barra in bits,
The wheel cairriet on an the aul wife it hits;
Losh! ye should hae seen fu she did the splits
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

Geordie lay doon sayin he winted tae dee,
Syne winted the lave o’s fareweel tae gie,
Fell asleep in the strae wi the barley bree
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.
He dreamt an said, ‘Mistress, I’ll kiss ye the noo,
But losh! Fit’s gane wrang? Ye’ve an affa weet mou.’
Fan he crackit a spunk, he wis kissin the coo
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

Een by een cowpit ower in the griep,
Een by een they a fell asleep;
Bye an bye the meen took a peep
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.
On the riggin a hoolet lat oot a ‘Yahoo’
But they didna need ony hush-ee-balloo;
Reveille next mornin wis the moo o the coo
At the muckin o Geordie’s byre.

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