Explore "Awa' Whigs, Awa'" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Chorus. -Awa' Whigs, awa'! / Awa' Whigs, awa'! / Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, / Ye'll do nae gude at a'.
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, / And bonie bloom'd our roses; / But Whigs cam' like a frost in June, / An' wither'd a' our posies. / Awa' Whigs, &c.
Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust- / Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't! / An' write their names in his black beuk, / Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. / Awa' Whigs, &c.
Our sad decay in church and state / Surpasses my descriving: / The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse, / An' we hae done wi' thriving. / Awa' Whigs, &c.
Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap, / But we may see him wauken: / Gude help the day when royal heads / Are hunted like a maukin! / Awa' Whigs, &c.