The Tenant’s gane, the Lodge is shut;
Nae mair, until the Twalth return,
We’ll see him threshin’ at the burn
Or sittin’ shiverin’ in his butt.
A sair wee man, wi’ a’ respec’;
If a’thing wasna as he wantit
He girned an’ grat an’ raged an’ rantit
Till folks was fain t’ thraw his neck.
He made oor road a road o’ fear;
His hunnert-horse-poo’er Sich-an-Sich
Wad send ye loupin’ for the ditch –
An’ ‘Damn yer eyes!’ was a’ ye’d hear.
A sair wee man; but sich maun be.
He pays the Laird a bonny rent
An’ syne the Lairdie, weel content,
Brings doon the rents for chiels like me.
O’ birds an’ fish a michty killer –
Guid send him back wi’ gun an’ creel;
We nivver lo’ed him unco weel –
But, man, we fairly rooked his siller!