TANNAHILL WEAVERS LYRICS glossary index leaving st. kilda tannahill weavers
The Rigs o' Rye
Traditional, arranged by the Tannahill Weavers

A classic ballad of love over money, although you do get the impression that the hero would rather have both.

His nightly prayer was "Oh God, please let me win the lottery!"  Night after night, week after week, month after month, "Oh God, please let me win the lottery!"  Eventually the voice of God booms out "ANGUS MACTUMSHIE!!"  "Wh...Wh...Whit is it, God?"  "ANGUS, YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO MEET ME HALFWAY ON THIS," says God, "AT LEAST BUY A TICKET!"


'Twas in the month of sweet July
Before the sun shone in the sky
There in between twa rigs o' rye
I heard twa lovers talkin'

He said my love I must gang away
No longer can I bide wi' ye
I hae a word or twa tae say
Gin ye hae the time for tae tarry

Your faither o' ye he tak's guid care
Your mither combs back your golden hair
Your sisters say that you'll get nae share
Gin ye follow me a stranger

Let faither fret and my mither frown
My sisters twa I do disown
Though a' were deid and below the grun
I would go wi' you a stranger

But lass your fortune it is but sma'
And maybe there will be nane ava'
You're no' the match for me at a'
So go lay your love on another

The lasses courage began to fail
Her rosie cheeks grew wan and pale
Her tears cam' tricklin' doon like hail
Or a sudden shower in the summer

He's ta'en his kerchief o' the linen fine
He's dried her tears and he's kissed her syne
Sayin' weep nae mair lass ye will be mine
I said it all for tae try you

This lad he bein' o' the courage bold
A gallant chief but nineteen years old
He's made the hills and the valleys roar
And the bonnie lassie's gone wi' him



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