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THE PRESSERS (Mary Brooksbank) There is nocht in this wide world but sorrow and care I weary on Johnnie, but Johnnie's no there Sae waesome and dowie, I feel like tae dee Since the pressers hae stolen my laddie fae me I look aroond the steading, but Johnnie's nae there At toil in the hairst field, my hert it feels sair When I look tae yon high hills, a tear blinds my e'e Since the pressers hae stolen my laddie fae me For he's far ower yon high hills and syne ower the sea I ken nowhere my ain dear laddie micht be In some foreign battlefield maybe he'll dee Oh, curse on ye, Boney, took my laddie fae me Now the bonnie larks singing mocks me in my care But I'll go on still hoping till grey grows my hair Oh, ye wild winds a blowing far ower the sea Will ye blow back my bonnie lad Johnnie tae me @Scottish @soldier @pressgang see also HIGHHILL, WEARYCUT recorded by Ray Fisher filename[ PRESSRS SOF |
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