| Spring comes to Kirrie, all the world’s in bloom
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| Winter is forgiven now, fooled by April’s broom
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| Kirrie, oh Kirrie, you were aye my hame
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| 'Til Napoleon’s bloody cannon hit their aim
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| Jeanie, oh Jeanie, I am surely done
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| Stricken down in battle at the mooth o' Boney’s guns
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| Jeanie, oh Jeanie, aye sae dear tae me
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| Let me hold you in my mind afore I dee
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| For the cold returns in autumn when the wind rakes the trees
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| And the summer lies forgotten in a cold bed of leaves
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| As winter begins aye mind Boney, it wasn’t only you
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| Who was broken on the field of Waterloo
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| Surgeon, oh surgeon, leave me wi' my pain
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| Save your knife for others who will surely rise again
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| Surgeon, oh surgeon, leave my blood to pour
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| Let it drain into the bitter clay once more
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| Daughter, oh daughter, listen dear tae me
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| Never wed a sodger, or a widow you will be
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| Daughter, oh daughter, curse your lad to die
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| 'Ere he catches the recruitin' sergeant’s eye
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| Boney, oh Boney, war was aye your game
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| Bloody field your table, cannon yours to aim
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| Boney, oh Boney, we aye lived the same
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| Drillin' laddies not to fear the muskets' flame |