A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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THE PLOUGHBOY LADS
When I was no but sweet sixteen
With beauty just a-blooming O,
It’s little, little did I think
At nineteen I’d be grieving O.
The ploughboy lads, they’re all braw lads,
But they’re false, and they’re deceiving O.
They’ll take your a’, and they’ll gang awa’,
And leave the lasses grieving O.
O I was fond of company,
And gave the ploughboys freedom O
To kiss and clap me in the dark,
When all my friends were sleeping O.
The ploughboy lads, they’re all braw lads,
But they’re false, and they’re deceiving O.
They’ll take your a’, and they’ll gang awa’,
And leave the lasses grieving O.
But if I had known what I know now
And ta’en my mither’s bidding O,
I’d no be sitting by our fireside
Crying hushabye my bairnie O.
The ploughboy lads, they’re all braw lads,
But they’re false, and they’re deceiving O.
They’ll take your a’, and they’ll gang awa’,
And leave the lasses grieving O.
It’s hushaba, for I’m your ma,
But the Lord knows who’s your daddy O,
But I’ll take care and I’ll beware
Of the ploughboys in the gloaming O.
The ploughboy lads, they’re all braw lads,
But they’re false, and they’re deceiving O.
They’ll take your a’, and they’ll gang awa’,
And leave the lasses grieving O.
Traditional Scottish
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