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[D]You've surely heard o' [Em]famous Neil,
The[D] man that [A]played the [D]fiddle weel,
I [G]wat he [D]was a [A7]canty
chiel',
And [D]dearly lo'[A]ed the [D]whiskey, O!
And ay sin' he wore [A7]tartan trews,
He [D]dearly lo'ed the Athole
brose;
And[G] wae was [D]he you [A7]may suppose,
To [D]play fare[A]weel to [D]whiskey, O.
Alake, quoth
Neil, I'm frail and auld,
And find my bluid grows unco cauld,
I think 'twad mak me blythe and bauld,
A wee drap highland
whiskey, O
Yet the doctors they do agree,
That whiskey's no the drink for me:
Saul, quoth, 'twill spoil my glee,
Should
they part me and whiskey, O.
Tho' I can get baith wine and ale,
And find my head and fingers hale,
I'll
be content, tho' legs should fail,
To play fareweel to whiskey, O.
But still I think on auld lang syne,
When Paradise
our friends did tyne,
Because something ran in their mind
Forbid, like highland whiskey, O.
Come, a' ye powers
of music, come!
I find my heart grows unco glum;
My fiddle-strings will no play bum
To say fareweel to whiskey, O.
Yet
I'll tak my fiddle in my hand,
And screw the pegs up while they'll stand,
To mak a lamentation grand,
On gude auld
highland whiskey, O.
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