This text comes from The Bennachie Budget, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
What’s brewed an’ stilled maun aye be swilled,
Your drouth we ne’er despise, man;
An’ thanks we’ll vent, since Parli’ment
O’er Bailies set th’ Exciseman.
Chorus—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’,
Chorus—Nor like to gang, the wise man;
Chorus—While drink can rax spontaneous tax,
Chorus—The State will back the Exciseman.
The Bailiehood, in bardach mood,
May gie their wigs a hyse, man,
An’ daur our youth to sloke their drouth,
As we had nae Exciseman.
Chorus.—He nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.
But dames an’ chiels may crack their heels,
An’ hooch till morn surprise men;
An’ never fear, they’ll want the gear,
As lang’s we’ve kind Excisemen.
Chorus.—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.
Tho’ Temp’rance sends her tonguey friends
The Trade to stigmatise, man;
Yet Bailies’ power to stint your hour
Is Baffled by th’ Exciseman.
Chorus.—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.
Then dance an’ drink, till doon ye clink,
Nor schape in haste to risé, man;
An’ for the joys o’ midnight ploys,
Drink “Luck to the Exciseman!”
Chorus.—He’s nae awa, fair be his fa’, &c.