Robert Burns
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There’s naught but care on every han’; in every hour that passes-o
F C Am Dm F G
What signifies the life o’ man an’ ‘twer no’ for the lasses-o
Green grow the rashes-o - green grow the rashes-o
The sweetest hours that e’er I spent I spent amang the lasses-o
The war’ly race may riches chase, and riches still my fly them-o
And tho’ at last they catch them fast, their hearts may ne’er enjoy them-o
And ye sae douce as sneer at this, yer no’ but senseless asses-o
The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw, he dearly loved the lasses-o
Gi’ me a cannie hour at e’en, my arms aboot my dearie-o
An’ warl’y cares and warl’y men may a’ gea tapsalteerie-o
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears her noblest work she classes-o
Her prentice han’ she tried on man, and then she made the lasses-o