Get Up, Get Out The Weavers

When I was young and short of tongue
A silly wee fool was I
The morning after I left the school
I heard my mother sigh

Get up, get out, you lazy lout
Get into your working clothes
Up to your knees in oil and grease
With the grindstone to your nose

I bought a clock, a bonny wee clock
To help me tell the time
It waken me every morning
With a very poetic rhythm

Get up, get out, you lazy lout
Get into your working clothes
Up to your knees in oil and grease
With the grindstone to your nose

I married a lass, a bonny wee lass
And kept her many a-year
Come what may, she began every day
By whispering in my ear

Get up, get out, you lazy lout
Get into your working clothes
Up to your knees in oil and grease
With the grindstone to your nose