Chorus.-The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o’ tow;
I think my wife will end her life,
Before she spin her tow.
I bought my wife a staneo’ lint,
As gudeas e’erdid grow,
And a’that she has made o’ that
Is aepuirpundo’ tow.
The weary pund, &c.
There sat a bottle in a bole,
Beyont the inglelow;
And aye she took the tithersouk,
To droukthe stourietow.
The weary pund, &c.
Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame,
Gaespin your tapo’tow!
She took the rock, and wi’a knock,
She brakit o’er my pow.
The weary pund, &c.
At last her feet-I sang to see’t!
Gaedforemost o’er the knowe,
And orI wadanitherjad,
I’ll wallopin a tow.
The weary pund, &c.