LYRIC

Now I’ve often heard it said from me father and me
mother
That the going tae a wedding is the making of another
Well, if this be true, I will go without a biddin
O kind providence, won’t you send me tae a wedding

And its O dear me, how would it be,
if I die an old maid in a garret

Well, there’s my sister Jean, she’s not handsome or
good looking
Scarcely sixteen and a fella she was courting
Now at twenty-four with a son and a daughter
Here am I at forty-five and I’ve never had an offer

I can cook and I can sew and I can keep the house right
tidy
Rise up in the morning and get the breakfast ready
There’s nothing in this whole world would make me half
so cheery
As a wee fat man to call me his own deary
So come landsman or come pinsman, come tinker or come
tailor
Come fiddler or come dancer, come ploughboy or come
sailor
Come rich man, come poor man, come fool or come witty
Come any man at all that will marry me for pity

Well now I’m away home for nobody’s heeding
Nobody’s heeding and nobody’s pleading
I’ll go away to my own bitty garret
If I can’t get a man, then I’ll have to get a parrot

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