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Chorus: Awa, Whigs, awa! Ye're but a pack o traitor louns, Ye'll do nae guid at a'. 1. 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. Chorus: 2. Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust; Deil blin' them wi the stoure o't! An write their names in the black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. Chorus: 3. Our sad decay in church and state Surpasses my descriving: The Whig cam o'er us for a curse, An' we hae done wi' thriving. Chorus: 4. Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap, But we may see him waukin: Gude help the day when Royal heads Are hunted like a maukin! Chorus |
You can find more midis in the archive under Midi of the Month.
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