On August twait frae Aberdeen,|
We sailed in The Prince,
And safe arrived on Shawfield's shore,
The harvest to commence.
For sax lang weeks the country roon,
Frae toon to toon we went;
We took richt weel wi' the Lothian chiels,
And was aye richt weel content.
Oor gaffer, Willie Mathieson,
Frae sweet Deeside he came;
Oor foreman cam' frae that same place,
And Logan was his name.
We followed Logan on the point,
And sae weel's he laid it doon,
And sae nimble as he led oor squad
Owre mony's the thistle croon.
My mate and me we had nae chance|
For Logan's watchful eye,
My mate and me we had nae chance,
For Logan was sae sly.
He cleared the bothy every nicht
Before he went to sleep,
And noi sae much as ane did leave,
But strict his rules did keep.
Fareweel MacKenzie, Reid and Ross
And the rest o' the merry crew;
There's Chalmers, Shepherd, Logan, Jock,
And the royal Steward too.
It's I mysel', a hielan lad,
Wad wish nae better cheer
Than a Lothian lass and a weel-made bed,
And a nicht as lang's a year.
Come fill our glass and drink it roon'|
Before our boat shall start,
And may we safely reach the shore
And all in friendship part.