Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms:
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.

         Chorus:

Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher;
The nice yellow guineas for me.


Your beauty 's a flower, in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster the faster it grows;
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes,
Ilk Spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher...

And e'en when this Beauty your bosom has blest,
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest;
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest,
The langer ye hae them, - the mair they're carest!
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher...