little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she ... Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind, Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear; Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. Justifiably Burns's most celebrated ...
When a' the lave gaed to their bed, And I sat up to clean the shoon, O wha think ye cam jumping ben, But Andrew and his cutty gun. Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, Blythe was she but and ben ...
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