Chorus.-Awa’ Whigs, awa’!
Awa’ Whigs, awa’!
Ye’re but a pack o’traitor louns,
Ye’ll do naegude at a’.

Our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair,
And boniebloom’d our roses;
But Whigs cam’ like a frost in June,
An’ wither’d a’our posies.
Awa’ Whigs, &c.

Our ancient crown’s fa’en in the dust-
Deilblin’them wi’ the stoureo’t!
An’ write their names in his black beuk,
Whagaethe Whigs the power o’t.
Awa’ Whigs, &c.

Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving:
The Whigs cam’ o’er us for a curse,
An’we haedone wi’thriving.
Awa’ Whigs, &c.

Grim vengeance langhas taena nap,
Butwe may see him wauken:
Gudehelp the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!
Awa’ Whigs, &c.