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.
Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap,
Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw,
O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap,
As high as ony Roman wa'.
Driving their baws frae whins or tee,
There are nae gowfers to be seen,
Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee
The byass-bouls on Tamson's green.
Then fling on coals, and rype the ribs,
And beek the house baith butt and ben;
That mutchkin-stoup it hauds but dribs—
Then let's get in the tappit-hen.
Good claret best keeps out the cauld,
And drives away the winter soon;
It makes a man baith gash and bauld,
And heaves his soul beyond the moon, &c.
'Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie,
Gi'e her a kiss and let her gae;
But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie,
Fye, gae rub her ower wi' strae.
Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her,
Fye, gae rub her ower wi' strae:
And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie,
Fye, gae rub her ower wi' strae.'"
Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie,
Gi'e her a kiss and let her gae;
But if ye meet a dirty hizzie,
Fye, gar rub her ower wi' strae.
Be sure ye dinna quit the grip
Of ilka joy when ye are young,
Before auld age your vitals nip,
And lay ye twa-fauld ower a rung.
Sweet youth's a blythe and heartsome time:
Then, lads and lasses, while it's May,
Gae pou the gowan in its prime,
Before it wither and decay.
Watch the saft minutes o' delight,
When Jenny speaks below her breath,
And kisses, layin' a' the wyte
On you if she kep ony skaith.
Haith, ye're ill-bred, she'll smilin' say,
Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook;
Syne frae your arms she'll rin away,
And hide hersel' in some dark neuk.
Her lauch will lead ye to the place,
Where lies the happiness ye want;
And plainly tell ye to your face,
Nineteen nay-says are hauf a grant.
Now to her heavin' bosom cling,
And sweitly tuilyie for a kiss;
Frae her fair finger whup a ring,
As taiken o' a future bliss.
These benisons, I'm very sure,
Are of kind heaven's indulgent grant;
Then, surly carles, wheesht, forbear
To plague us wi' your whinin' cant!