that dang her tapsalteerie, o.
their capon craws an' queer “ha, ha's,”
they made our lugs grow eerie, o;
the hungry bike did scrape and fyke,
till we were wae and weary, o:
but a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd,
a prisoner, aughteen year awa',
he fir'd a fiddler in the north,
that dang them tapsalteerie, o.