AWA whigs awa,
Awa whigs awa,
Y 're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae gude at a'.

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonie bloom'd our roses;
But whigs cam' like a frost in June,
An' wither'd a' our posies.
Chos. Awa whigs, &c.

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust;
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't,
And write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the whigs the power o't!
Chos. Awa whigs, &c.

Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving:
The whigs cam o'er us for a curse,
And we hae done wi' thriving.
Chos. Awa whigs, &c.

Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him wauken:
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin.
Chos. Awa whigs, &c.