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The Barns o' Beneuches 
The Barns o' Beneuches 
My friens ane an' a' I'll sing you a sang If ye all haud yer weeshts it winna tak' me lang <keep quiet> It's aboot a mannie Kemp, he's a caird tongued fang <abusive lout> For he rages like a deevil in the mornin'. 
He's a wee little mannie wi' a fern tickled face A' the days o' yer life ye bever saw sic a mess Ye wid swear he hid deserted frae some tinkler race Afore they had got a' wakened in the mornin'. 
At the Barnyards o' Beneuches he has long been a grieve But come May the twenty sixth he has to pad, I believe, For he's sieged at his men, till his maister's gien him leave <stormed> So he canna get them up in the mornin'. 
But when he doth rise ye niver heard sic a soun' For he'll siege you and damn you like ony dragoon, His lang caird tongue you'd hear't roun' the toon <scolding> Afore he gets his breakfast in the mornin'. 
Dinna gang to the Barns if ye wish to be weel A' the days o' yer life ye ne'er saw sic a chiel He'll treat you to a breakfast o' buttermilk an' meal Wi' a drink o' soor ale in ther mornin'. 
We get beef bree whiles weel seasoned wi' reek <smoke> Wi' three seeds o' barley an' the smell o' a leek If you're nae pleased wi' that he'll neen o' yer cheek But he'll put you frae his toon in the mornin' 
But if e'er sic a thing as a row should arise My friens ane an' a' tak tent an' be wise <heed> Keep quietness if you can or the wife will rise Dancin' mad on her stockin's in the mornin'. 
'Twas ae mornin' in March juist as near as I can She came swearin' fae the blankets we'd bad used her man With her sark tail wiggle waggle into the close she ran Dancin' mad on her stockin's in the mornin'. 
For a lang caird tongue she's the worst that I ken 
Lord bless me! Sic a mornin' may I never see again Five or sax naked bairnies a'rinnin' but an' ben Cryin', "Od mammie's mad in the mornin'. 
Says she to the shepherd, "Ye're nae frien o' mine For a'body kens ye're a caird Hielan' thing Ye tauld 'em doon at Brunan I gaed milk tae the swine An' you soor ale to your porridge in the mornin'. 
But it's May the twenty-saxt will be here in a crack An' we'll a' leave the Barns never mair to gang back We'll gang blithely doon the road like an ill-tongued pack Singin' Kempie he can follow in the mornin'. 
Now my name I will reveal if sic thing I ever hid It's but the country clype I'll ne'er deny, gweed forbid <gossip> My neighbors a' that ken me weel they ca' me Jock Wid Sae we'll up an' leave the Barns in the mornin'. 
From the Grieg-Duncan collectioon (360B) Collected from John Wight Apr98