ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½

Available for over a year

'O an ye were dead Gudeman A green turf on your head gudeman, I wad bestow my widowhood Upon a rantin Highlandman. There's sax eggs in the pan gudeman, There's sax eggs in the pan gudeman There's ane to you, and twa to me, And three to our John Highlandman.' A Sheep-head in the pot gudeman A Sheep-head in the pot gudeman The flesh to him the broo to me, An the horns become your brow gudeman Sing round about the fire wi a rung she ran An round about the fire wi a rung she ran Your horns shall tie you to the straw And I shall band your hide gudeman