1: I’ll sing ye a sang o a canty auld body,
A kenspeckle figure wis auld Wattie Broon;
A trustworthy hand at the Mains o Drumcloddie,
Since the day he began tae wark there as a loon.
2: And syne there as baillie he proved himsel canny,
His waork conscientious, particlar and clean;
Till ae day his maister says, "Wattie, ma mannie,
Ye’ll tak the third pair, they’re ca’d Princie and Jean."
3: Noo in aa bonnie Scotland there wisnae a human,
Sae happy as Wattie wi his dandy pair;
And he seen taen his place wi the lave as a plooman,
And, oh, he wis prood o his gelding and mare.
4: A grand pair o blacks, no their likes in a hunner,
Wi coats o a rich glossy ebony sheen;
And at plooin matches for years worthy winner,
Wis Wattie, for groomin, wi Princie and Jean.
5: Noo Wattie aye bidit content wi his duties,
Bit life’s fu o changes as aabody kens;
Decrepit auld age claimed the baith o his beauties,
And tractors began tae appear at the Mains.
6: Noo a steerin wheel Wattie just widna be grippin,
He wrocht on as orraman – didna compleen;
Bit aabody noticed dounhill he was slippin,
Dounhill he was pinin for Princie and Jean.
7: And noo he’s awa, aa his trauchles are ended,
A God-fearin body wha aye did his best;
His life was a sermon, the mourners aa kent it,
On Tuesday last week when we laid him tae rest.
8: And we aa had a thocht, though we didna divulge it,
As wi hankies we dabbit the tears fae oor een;
That if He wha was born in a manger sae wills it,
They’ll be waitin for Wattie – his Princie and Jean!
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