the weary pund o' tow
    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 stane o' lint,
    as gude as e'er did grow,
    and a' that she has made o' that
    is ae puir pund o' tow.
    the weary pund, c.
    there sat a bottle in a bole,
    beyont the ingle low;
    and aye she took the tither souk,
    to drouk the stourie tow.
    the weary pund, c.
    h i, for shame, ye dirty dame,
    gae spin your tap o' tow!
    she took the rock, and wi' a knock,
    she brak it o'er my pow.
    the weary pund, c.
    at last her feet—i sang to see't!
    gaed foremost o'er the knowe,
    and or i wad anither jad,
    i'll wallop in a tow.
    the weary pund, c.