Green are the rashes, O
Green are the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O

There's nought but care on ev'ry han'
In every hour that passes, O
What signifies the life o' man
In hands of lasses, O

The war'ly race may riches chase
An' riches still may fly them, O
An' tho' at last they catch them fast
Their hearts cannot enjoy them, O

But give me cannie hour at night
My arms about my dearie, O
An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O