Awa Whigs, Awa / Robert Burns

CHORUS.

Awa Whigs, awa!

Awa Whigs, awa!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,

Ye'll do nae good at a'.

I

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,

And bonnie bloom'd our roses;

But Whigs came like a frost in June,

And wither'd a' our posies.

II.

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust--

Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't;

And write their names in his black beuk,

Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.

III.

Our sad decay in Church and State

Surpasses my descriving:

The Whigs came o'er us for a curse,

And we hae done wi' thriving.

IV.

Grim vengeance lang ha's taen a nap,

But we may see him wauken;

Gude help the day when royal heads

Are hunted like a maukin.

Awa Whigs, awa!

Awa Whigs, awa!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,

Ye'll do nae gude at a'.