The Moss O’ Burreldale

Have ye ever seen a tinkler’s camp upon a simmer’s nicht
A nicht afore a market fin a’-thing’s gyan richt
Fan a’ the tramps and hawkers they come fae hill an’ dale
Tee gaither in the gloamin’ in the Moss o’ Burreldale

Fan the ale wis only tippence an’ a tanner bocht a gill
A besom or a tilly pan, a shelt we aye could sell
An’ we a’ forgot oor troubles ower a forty o’ sma’ ale
As we gaithert in the gloamin’ in the Moss o’ Burreldale

Noo time wis nae langer heard when muckle Jock McQueen
He startit tunin’ up his pipes he bocht in Aiberdeen
He blew see hard, the skin wis thin, the bag began tae swell
An’ awa’ flew Jack wi’ the sheepskin pyoke ower the Moss o’ Burreldale

Fan the ale wis only tippence an’ a tanner bocht a gill
A besom or a tilly pan, a shelt we aye could sell
An’ we a’ forgot oor troubles ower a forty o’ sma’ ale
As we gaithert in the gloamin’ in the Moss o’ Burreldale

Noo little Jimmie Docherty, a horseman great wis he
He jumpit on a sheltie’s back, some tricks tae lat us see
Bit a gallant shoved some prickly wins aneath the sheltie’s tail
An he cast a shot in a mossy pot in the Moss o’ Burreldale

Fan the ale wis only tippence an’ a tanner bocht a gill
A besom or a tilly pan, a shelt we aye could sell
An’ we a’ forgot oor troubles ower a forty o’ sma’ ale
As we gaithert in the gloamin’ in the Moss o’ Burreldale