Andrew Shirrefs (1762–1807?)

A COGIE o’ yill and a pickle ait-meal,

And a dainty wee drappie o’ whiskey,

Was our forefathers’ dose for to sweel down their brose,

And keep them aye cheery and frisky.

Then hey for the whiskey, and hey for the meal,

And hey for the cogie, and hey for the yill;

Gin ye steer a’ thegither they’ll do unco weel

To keep a chiel cheery and brisk aye.

When I see our Scots lads, wi’ their kilts and cockades,

That sae aften ha’e loundered our foes, man,

I think to mysel’ on the meal and the yill,

And the fruits o’ our Scottish kail brose, man.
Then hey for the whiskey, etc.

When our brave Highland blades, wi’ their claymores and plaids,

In the field drive like sheep a’ our foes, man;

Their courage and power spring frae this, to be sure,

They’re the noble effects o’ the brose, man.
Then hey for the whiskey, etc.

But your spindle-shanked sparks, wha sae ill fill their sarks,

Your pale-visaged milksops and beaux, man;

I think, when I see them, ’twere kindness to gi’e them

A cogie o’ yill or o’ brose, man.
Then hey for the whiskey, etc.

What John Bull despises our better sense prizes;

He denies eatin’ blanter ava’, man;

But by eatin’ o’ blanter his mare’s grown, I’ll warrant her,

The manliest brute o’ the twa, man.
Then hey for the whiskey, etc.