At market day in Huntley toon, an' it was there I did agree Wi' Bogieside the farmer a twelvemonth for to fee Tae drive his twa best horses, that's a task that I could do Tae drive his twa best horses in the harrow and the ploo
Now Bogie had a dochter, her name was Isabelle She was the lily o' the valley an' the primrose o' the dell An' when she went oot walkin', she chose me for her guide Doon by the burn at Cairnie, tae watch the fishes glide
And when three months was scarcely o'er, the lassie lost her bloom An' the red fell frae her bonnie cheeks an' her eyes began to swoon Noo, the neist nine months were past and gone, she brought tae me a son And I was quickly sent for tae see what could be done I said that I would marry her, but oh that widna dae For, "You're nae match for Bonnie Belle, an' she's nae match for thee" He sent me packin' doon the road, wi' nae penny o' my fee Sae a' ye lads o' Huntley toon a lang fareweel tae ye.
But noo she's marrit tae a tinker lad, wha bides in Huntley toon He mends pots and pans and paraffin lamps, an' scours the country roon Maybe she's gotten a better match - auld Bogie canna tell - But it was me wha's ta'en the maidenheid o' Bogie's bonnie Belle
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Copy to Clipboard: At market day in Huntley toon, an' it was there I did agree Wi' Bogieside the farmer a twelvemonth for to fee Tae drive his twa best horses, that's a task that I could do Tae drive his twa best horses in the harrow and the ploo
Now Bogie had a dochter, her name was Isabelle She was the lily o' the valley an' the primrose o' the dell An' when she went oot walkin', she chose me for her guide Doon by the burn at Cairnie, tae watch the fishes glide
And when three months was scarcely o'er, the lassie lost her bloom An' the red fell frae her bonnie cheeks an' her eyes began to swoon Noo, the neist nine months were past and gone, she brought tae me a son And I was quickly sent for tae see what could be done I said that I would marry her, but oh that widna dae For, "You're nae match for Bonnie Belle, an' she's nae match for thee" He sent me packin' doon the road, wi' nae penny o' my fee Sae a' ye lads o' Huntley toon a lang fareweel tae ye.
But noo she's marrit tae a tinker lad, wha bides in Huntley toon He mends pots and pans and paraffin lamps, an' scours the country roon Maybe she's gotten a better match - auld Bogie canna tell - But it was me wha's ta'en the maidenheid o' Bogie's bonnie Belle
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