The Real McKenzies - Halloween | Текст песни

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• The Real McKenzies
• Halloween

He wistl'd up Lord Lennox' March
To keep his courage cherry;
Altho' me hair began to arch,
He was sae fley'd an' eerie:
Till presently we hears a squeak,
An' then a grane an' gruntle;
An over me shouther gae a keek,
An' tumbled wi' a wintle

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu' desperation!
An' young an' auld come rinnin out,
To hear the sad narration:
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie-
Till stop! she trotted thro' them a';
And wha was it but grumphie

Upon that night, when fairies light
On Cassilis Downans dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en,
Beneath the moon's beams;
There, up the Cove, to stray an' rove,
Amang the rocks and streams
Fu' blythe that night.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,
The devil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up an' ga'e a croon:
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav'rock-height she jumpit,
But mist a fit, an' in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit.

Amang the bonie winding banks,
Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;
Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks,
An' shook his Carrick spear;
Some merry, friendly, countra-folks
Together did convene,
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,
An' haud their Halloween
Fu' blythe that night.

interlude

Wee Jenny to her graunie says,
\"Will ye go wi' me, graunie?
I'll eat the apple at the glass,
I gat frae uncle Johnnie:\"
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin,
She notic't na an aizle brunt
Her braw, new, worset apron

Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
I daur you try sic sportin,
As seek the foul thief ony place,
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,
An' liv'd an' died deleerit,

Upon that night, when fairies light
On Cassilis Downans dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en,
Beneath the moon's beams;
There, up the Cove, to stray an' rove,
Amang the rocks and streams

Amang the bonie winding banks,
Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;
Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks,
An' shook his Carrick spear;
Some merry, friendly, countra-folks
Together did convene,
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,
An' haud their Halloween

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