This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
You've surely heard o' famous Neil,
The man that play'd the fiddle weel;
I wat he was a canty chiel,
And dearly lo'ed the whiskey, O!
And, aye sin he wore the tartan trews,
He dearly lo'ed the Athole brose;
And wae was he, you may suppose,
To play fareweel to whiskey, O.
Alake, quoth Neil, I'm frail and auld,
And find my blude grow unco cauld;
I think 'twad make me blythe and bauld,
A wee drap Highland whiskey, O.
Yet the doctors they do a' agree,
That whiskey's no the drink for me.
Saul! quoth Neil, 'twill spoil my glee,
Should they part me and whiskey, O.
Though I can baith get wine and ale,
And find my head and fingers hale,
I'll be content, though legs should fail,
To play fareweel to whiskey, O.
But still I think on auld lang syne,
When Paradise our friends did tyne,
Because something ran in their mind,
Forbid like Highland whiskey, O.
Come, a' ye powers o' music, come;
I find my heart grows unco glum;
My fiddle-strings will no play bum,
To say, Fareweel to whiskey, O.
Yet I'll take my fiddle in my hand,
And screw the pegs up while they'll stand,
To make a lamentation grand,
On gude auld Highland whiskey, O.