the weary pund o' tow
  chorus.—the weary pund, the weary pund,
  the weary pund o' tow;
  i think my wife will end her life,
  before she spin her tow.
  i bought my wife a stane o' lint,
  as gude as e'er did grow,
  and a' that she has made o' that
  is ae puir pund o' tow.
  the weary pund, c.
  there sat a bottle in a bole,
  beyont the ingle low;
  and aye she took the tither souk,
  to drouk the stourie tow.
  the weary pund, c.
  h i, for shame, ye dirty dame,
  gae spin your tap o' tow!
  she took the rock, and wi' a knock,
  she brak it o'er my pow.
  the weary pund, c.
  at last her feet—i sang to see't!
  gaed foremost o'er the knowe,
  and or i wad anither jad,
  i'll wallop in a tow.
  the weary pund, c.