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　　News, Lassies, News

　　There's news, lassies, news,

　　Gude news I've to tell!

　　There's a boatfu' o' lads

　　Come to our town to sell.

　　Chorus—The wean wants a cradle,

　　And the cradle wants a cod:

　　I'll no gang to my bed,

　　Until I get a nod.

　　Father, quo' she, Mither, quo she,

　　Do what you can,

　　I'll no gang to my bed,

　　Until I get a man.

　　The wean, &c.

　　I hae as gude a craft rig

　　As made o'yird and stane;

　　And waly fa' the ley-crap,

　　For I maun till'd again.

　　The wean, &c. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns