| Tam he woke tae find a shadow by the bed
|
| Blamed it on the vapors still beleaguerin' his head
|
| Scrubbed his chops & dragged an oily bug rake through his hair
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| And wiped the mirror tae find the bogey mimickin' his stare
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| He boilt the jug tae quench his mug & baked a lump o' toast
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| Hid behind the racin' pages from the hoary ghost
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| «Awfy ghostie if yer here tae make me dead
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| Spare me life & bother me wife or Mother-in-law instead!»
|
| «Tam McCorty I’m not here to make you cry
|
| I know youre just a broken man wi' longing in his eye
|
| I’ll say my say & go my way a-carving through the rye
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die.»
|
| «By the way ye’ve hung yer tools o' trade & mantle I can tell
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| Ye willnae leave until ye’ve seen me safely intae hell
|
| So follow me down the 'Horse & Crown' of liquor I’m sae fond
|
| I’ll drink meself tae death & haunt the witches from beyond.»
|
| «Tam McCorty I’m not here to make you cry
|
| I know youre just a broken man wi' longing in his eye
|
| I’ll say my say & go my way a-carving through the rye
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die.»
|
| They drank to fallen heroes, they spat & cursed the Queen
|
| They argued o’er 'Black Caviar' - The finest ever seen?
|
| They smoked cigars & played at cards for pots o' Gilbeys Gin
|
| Roarin' as the fiery liqour, it spilled all down their chin
|
| «Tam McCorty I’m not here to make you cry
|
| I know youre just a broken man wi' longing in his eye
|
| I’ll say my say & go my way a-carving through the rye
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die.»
|
| They staggered home along the tracks & pissed against a post
|
| The dogs a' barkin' madly, all as though they’d seen a ghost
|
| «Oh take me now I beg you, pick yer mark & pick it well
|
| I’m tired o' livin' & there I think I hear the hounds o' HELL!»
|
| «Tam McCorty I’m not here to make you cry
|
| I know youre just a broken man wi' longing in his eye
|
| I’ll say my say & go my way a-carving through the rye
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die.»
|
| Death threw his cloak across him where he passed out in his chair
|
| And whispered in a frosty tone directly in his ear
|
| «Best you learn to live again, forgive yerself yer past
|
| For when you see me next Tam, it’ll be your last.»
|
| «Tam McCorty I’m not here to make you cry
|
| I know youre just a broken man wi' longing in his eye
|
| I’ll say my say & go my way a-carving through the rye
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die.»
|
| «Tam McCorty I’m not here to make you cry
|
| I know youre just a broken man wi' longing in his eye
|
| I’ll say my say & go my way a-carving through the rye
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die
|
| Tam McCorty, its not your day to die.» |