awa' whigs, awa'
chorus.—awa' whigs, awa'!
awa' whigs, awa'!
ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
ye'll do nae gude at a'.
our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
and bonie bloom'd our roses;
but whigs cam' like a frost in june,
an' wither'd a' our posies.
awa' whigs, &c.
our a 's fa'en in the dust—
deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't!
an' write their names in his bck beuk,
wha gae the whigs the power o't.
awa' whigs, &c.
our sad decay in churd state
surpasses my descriving:
the whigs cam' o'er us for a curse,
an' we hae done wi' thriving.
awa' whigs, &c.
grim vengeang has taen a nap,
but we may see him wauken:
gude help the day when royal heads
are hunted like a maukin!
awa' whigs, &c.