His Sang o’ Sangs is a’ that

The Bonniest Lass

by Robert Burns

The bonniest lass that ye meet neist,
Gie her a kiss and a’ that,
In spite o’ ilka parish priest,
Repentin’ stool and a’ that,

For a’ that and a’ that
Their mim mued sangs and a’ that,
In time and place convenient,
They’d dae it themselves for a’ that.

Your patriarchs in days of yore
Had their handmaids, and a’ that,
O, bastard gets, some had a score,
And some had mair, for a’ that.

For a’ that and a’ that,
Your Lang syne saunts and a’ that,
Were fonder o’ a bonnie lass,
Than you or I for a’ that.

King Davie when he waxed auld,
His blood ran thin and a’ that,
And found his cods were growin’ cald,
Could not refrain from a’ that.

For a’ that and a’ that
Tae keep him warm and a’ that
The Dauchters o’ Jerusalem
Were wailed for him and a’ that.

Wha wadna pity the sweet dames
He fumbled at and a’ that,
And raised their blood up into flames,
He couldna quell for a’ that.

For a’ that and a’ that
He wanted pith and a’ that,
But as tae what we shall nae name
What could he dae but claw that.

King Soloman, prince o’ devines
Wha proverbs made and a’ that
Baith mistresses and concubines
In hundreds had for a’ that.

For a’ that and a’ that
Though preacher wise and a’ that
The smuttiest sang that ere was sung
His Sang o’ Sangs is a’ that

So still I say a clever chiel
Should kiss a lass and a’ that
Though priests consign him tae the de’il
As reprobate and a’ that.

For a’ that and a’ that
Their cantin’ stuff and a’ that,
They ken nae mair wha’s reprobate
Than you or I for a’ that.