Lyr Req: Jenny o' the Braes (Alan Reid)

The people called her Jennie of the Braes (hillsides)
And she was well-known to us all
Her gangling body, hanging out of her clothes
Made her stand out when
she strode down the hillesides.
Two days a week, she's come visiting the town;
She'd take the hillsides, rain, hail, or shine;
Her silver hair would be fleeing in the wind,
And people thought her a creature, mad or wild.

When ice and snow gripped all the country,
You'd see the smoke rse from her chimney;
The world below could then rest easy
for Jennie of the Braes

The wind aways blew around the moor,
It rattled on her cottage windows.
She sat inside, close by the fire.
She was content in her own company.
And if you asked her if she was well,
She'd say, "I'm grand, sir. How's yourself?"
And then she's trudge on up the hill
Jennie of the Braes.

She wasn't bothered overmuch with gear (possessions)
She lived on cheese, bread, oats, and barley
She wasn't bothered by trouble or care.
She'd spurn the knock that brought a helping hand.
Sometimes she'd wander over the moor,
Collecting heather, plants, and flowers
And singing softly to herself,
Jennie o the Braes

Last year, she stayed more at home,
Her cottage door was seldom open
And when the spring flowers came to bloom,
She hardly ever ventured down the hillsides.
And one day when someone was out walking,
They saw her chimney was not smoking.
They found her sitting in the kitchen,
A smile upon her face...
Jennie o' the Braes

The people cried her Jennie o the Braes
An she wis weel-kent tae us aa.
Her ganglin body, hingin oot her claithes,
Made her stan oot when
she strode doon the braes.
Twa days a week, she'd come visitin the toon;
She'd tak the braes rain, hail or shine;
Her silver hair wuid be fleein in the wind
An' folk thocht her a craiture mad or wild

When ice an snaw gripped aa the kintry,
Ye'd see the smoak rise frae her chimney;
The world ablaw cuid then rest easy
for Jennie o' the Braes

The wind blew allus roond the muir;
It rattled on her cottage windae.
She sat inside claise by the fire;
She wis content in her ain company
An if ye askit her if she wis weel,
She'd say "I'm grand, Sir, how's yersel?"
An then she'd trudge on up the hill--
Jennie o the Braes

She wisnae bothered owermuch wi gear;
She lived on cheese, breid, oats an barley.
She wisnae fashed wi trouble or care;
She'd spurn the knock that brocht a helpin haun.
Sometimes she'd wander ower the muir,
Collectin heather, plants an fleurs,
An singing saftly tae hersel--
Jennie o the Braes

Last year, she bidit mair at hame.
Her cottage door wis seldom open
An when the spring fleurs cam tae bloom,
She hardly ever ventur'd doon the braes.
Ane day when someane wis oot walkin,
They saw her chimney wisnae smoakin;
They foun her sittin in the kitchen,
A smile upon her face...
Jennie o' the Braes