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Awa' Whigs Awa' 
Awa' Whigs Awa' (Robert Burns) 
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, And bonie bloom'd our roses; 
But Whigs cam like a frost in June, An wither'd a our posies. 
CHORUS 
Awa, Whigs, awa! Awa, Whigs, awa! 
Ye're but a pack o traitor louns, Ye'll do nae guid at a'. 
Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust; Deil blin' them wi the stoure o't, 
An write their names in the black beuk Wha gae the Whigs the power o't! 
& ch 
Our sad decay in church and state Surpasses my descriving: 
The Whig cam o'er us for a curse, An we hae done wi thriving. 
& ch 
Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap, But we may see him waukin: 
Gude help the day when Royal heads Are hunted like a maukin! 
& ch 
tune: Awa whigs awa (303) ARB