| As I went by Huntleigh town
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| One evening for to see
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| I met with Bogey O' Cairnee
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| And with him I did agree
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| To care for his two best horses
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| Or cart or harrow or plough
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| Or anything about farm work
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| That I very well should know
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| Old Bogey had a daughter
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| Her name was Isobel
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| She’s the lily of the valley
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| And the primrose of the dell
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| And when she went out walking
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| She took me for her guide
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| Down by the Burn O’Cairnee
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| To watch the small fish glide
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| And when three months was past and gone
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| This girl she lost her bloom
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| The red fell from her rosy cheeks
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| And her eyes began to swoon
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| And when nine months were past and gone
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| She bore to me a son
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| And I was straight sent for
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| To see what could be done
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| I said that I would marry her
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| But that it would nae do
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| You’re no a match for the bonny wee girl
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| And she’s no match for you
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| Now she’s married to a tinker lad
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| That comes from Huntleigh town
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| He sells pots and pans and paraffin lamps
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| And scours the country round
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| Maybe she’s had a better match
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| Old Bogey can nae tell
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| So fair well ye lads o Huntleigh town
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| And to Bogey’s bonnie belle |