Now gie me back my milkin' stool,
An' leave me to my work,
Ye neither kenned me in the school
Nor ken me in the kirk;
It's clear to me there isna place
Aneath a coo for twa,
If that your lips must touch my face,
Then swear ye never saw.
The milkin' trick's no in yer way,
Ye needna try again,
Ye'd pinch my fingers a' the day,
An' wadna git a drain;
They arena like my lady's sma',
But nane that had his wits
Wad grip an' squeeze them thumbs an' a',
An' think them Crumles' teats!
So up an' leave me wi' the coo,
Syne in your Sunday claes
Ye ken not me, I ken not you,
My lord o' workadays.