When I was a wee laatle totterin' bairn,
An' had nobbud just gitten short frocks,
When to gang I at first was beginnin' to lairn,
On my brow I gat monny hard knocks.
For sae waik, an' sae silly an' helpless was I
I was always a tumblin' doon then,
While my mother would twattle me gently an' cry,
'Honey Jenny, tak care o' thisen.'

When I grew bigger, an' got to be strang,
At I cannily ran all about
By misen, whor I liked, then I always mud gang
Bithout bein' tell'd about ought;
When, however, I com to be sixteen year awd,
An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men,
My mother would call o' me in an' would scaud,
An' cry-' Huzzy, tak care o' thisen.'

I've a sweetheart cooms noo upo' Setterday nights,
An' he swears at he'll mak me his wife;
My mam grows sae stingy, she scauds an' she flytes,
An' twitters me oot o' my life.
Bud she may leuk sour, an' consait hersen wise,
An' preach agean likin' young men;
Sen I's grown a woman her clack I'll despise,
An' I's-marry!-tak care o' misen.