| The Merchant's Son |
| Dr. Ross's 50th
Welcome the Argyllshire Gathering |
Traditional, arranged by the Tannahill Weavers
At last a blow for women's lib where, being
short of a few bob, the young lady in question cons this rich young man
out of his money and his clothes.
A crafty girl I'll tell the world
She winked at him for starters
She wore a smile on rosie cheeks
And mousetraps in her garters
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LYRICS:
A merchant's son he has lived in wrong, and tae the
begging he has gone
And mounted on a noble steed, it's awa' wi' pleasure he did ride
Rantin antin an, rantin antin ae
A beggar wench he chanced to see, a beggar wench o' low degree
And he's ta'en pity on her distress, and says lass ye've got a pretty face
Rantin antin an, rantin antin ae
They both inclined then tae ha'e a drink, intae a public house they went
They drank stong ale aye and brandy too-o, until the both of them got roarin'
fu'
Rantin antin an, rantin antin ae
They both inclined then tae go tae bed, soon under cover they were laid
Strong ale and brandy went to their head-o, until they both lay like they were
dead
Rantin antin an, rantin antin ae
Early next morning the wench she rose, and she's put on now the merchant's
clothes
We' his hat sae high and his sword sae dear-o, she's awa' wi' a' the merchants
gear
Rantin antin an, rantin antin ae
And later on then the merchant rose, and he's looked roun' for tae find his
clothes
There's naethin' left no' intae the room-o, but a petticoat and a wimsey goon
Rantin antin an, rantin antin ae
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