Green grow the rashes, Oh.

Text:

© WanHu
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that ever I spent,
I spent among the lassies, O!

There's nought but care on every hand
In every hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life of man,
If it was not for the lassies, O?

The worldly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them, O;
And though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can never enjoy them, O.

But give me a canny hour at evening,
My arms about my dearie, O,
And worldly cares and worldly men
May all go tapsalteerie, O!

For you so douce, ye sneer at this,
You're nought but senseless asses, O;
The wisest man the world ever saw,
He dearly loved the lassies, O.

Old Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her apprentice hand she tried on man,
And then she made the lassies, O.

Robert Burns