ide, auld sd's cash
to her warst faes.
ye scots, wha wish auld sd well!
ye chief, to you my tale i tell,
poor, pckless devils like mysel'!
it sets you ill,
wi' bitter, dearthfu' wio mell,
or fn gill.
may gravels round his bther wrench,
an' gouts torment him, inch by inch,
what twists his gruntle wi' a glunch
o' sour disdain,
out owre a gss o' whisky-punch
wi' ho men!
o whisky! soul o' pys and pranks!
accept a bardie's gratfu' thanks!
when wanting thee, what tuneless ks
are my
Scotch Drink(7/9)