http://www.box.net/shared/4dqax304kw
My name is J -- k M -- r, I care not who knows it,
For I am the laird of the lands of Glenlee,
And I am the man that can parritch and brose it,
And drink strong liquors, if you'll keep me free.
I J -- y M -- r, was there e'er such another,
I'm laird of Glenlee, Lord Justice Clerk's brother,
And twenty fat wethers, like rabbits I'll smother,
And eat them myself at the mill of Glenlee.
Religion's a whim, I know nothing about it,
Its principles never were studied by me.
My belly is an idol, and if you dispute it,
Its altar is in state, at the mill of Glenlee,
Where thousands of victims I yearly do offer,
To know if there is any devotion a proffer,
That twice in the year, to the gold of my coffer,
When I lift the rents at the mill of Glenlee.
It is a long time since my kyte was disform'd,
And handsomeness it is a stranger to me;
My head's like a bull's, if it were as well horn'd,
It would fright all the cows on the mill of Glenlee.
My belly's so big, with the weight of my paunches,
The grease of my sides hangs over my haunches,
I'm render'd unable to kiss the fair wenches,
Which makes me lament at the mill of Glenlee.
I'm render'd unable for the pleasures of Venus,
And nothing like that is a pleasure to me,
With eating and drinking I nourish my genius,
I seed like a swine at the mill of Glenlee.
Behold, when I'm dead, they'll say there lies a fat one,
Another cries out, and drunkard and glutton;
Let them say what they will, I'll devour my lov'd mutton
With greed, while I live at the mill of Glenlee.
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