o wat ye wha&039;s yon town
tune—“i&039;ll gang nae air to yon toun”
chor—o wat ye wha&039;s yon town,
ye see the e&039;en sun upon,
the dearest aid&039;s yon town,
that e&039;eng sun is shg on
now haply down yon gay green shaw,
she wanders by yon spreadg tree;
how blest ye flowers that round her bw,
ye catch the gnces o&039; her e&039;e!
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
how blest ye birds that round her sg,
and wele the bloog year;
and doubly wele be the sprg,
the sean to y jeanie dear
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
the sun blks blythe on yon town,
aong the brooy braes sae green;
but y delight yon town,
and dearest pleasure, is y jean
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
without y fair, not a&039; the chars
o&039; paradise uld yield joy;
but give jeanie y ars
and wele pnd&039;s dreary sky!
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
y cave wad be a lover&039;s bower,
tho&039; ragg ter rent the air;
and she a lovely little flower,
that i wad tent and shelter there
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
o sweet is she yon town,
the sk, sun&039;s gane down upon;
a fairer than&039;s yon town,
his settg bea ne&039;er shone upon
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
if angry fate is sworn y foe,
and suff&039;rg i a doo&039;d to bear;
i careless it aught else below,
but spare, o spare jeanie dear
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
for while life&039;s dearest blood is war,
ae thought frae her shall ne&039;er depart,
and she, as fairest is her for,
she has the truest, kdest heart
o wat ye wha&039;s, c
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