This text comes from The Black-Bird Songster, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
There dwalt a man on Crawford moor,
And John Blunt was his name ;
He made gude maut, aud brew'd gude ale,
And bore a wondrous fame.
Now it fell upon a Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was than,
That Johnie's wife had puddings to make,
And she boil'd them in the pan.
The wind swept cauld frae north to south,
And blew into the floor;
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
Get up and bar the door.
My hand is in my husewife-cap,
Gudeman as ye may see;
If its no barr'd this hunder year,
It's no be barr'd by me.
They made a paction 'tween them twa,
A paction firm and sure,
Whoever spoke the foremost word,
Should rise and bar the door.
Twa travellers had tint their gate,
As o'er the hills they foor,
And airted by the line o' light,
Made straight to Johnnie's door.
Now whether is this a rich man's house,
Or whether is it a poor?
But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak,
For the barring of the door.
And first they ate the white puddings,
And syne they ato the black:
O muckle thought our gudewife to herse
But ne'er a word she spake.
The young ane to the auld ane said,
Here, man, take ye my knife,
And gang and shave the gudeman's board,
While I kiss the gudewife.
But there's nae water in the house,
And what shall I do than?—
What ails ye at the pudding broo,
That's simmering in the pan?
O, up then started our gudeman,
An angry man was he—
Will ye kiss my wife afore my face,
And scaud me wi' pudding bree,
An' up an' started our gudewife,
Gae three skips o'er the floor,
Gudeman, ye've spoke the foremost word,
Get up and bar the door