Green grow the rashes O,
Green grow the rashes O,
The feather-bed is no sae saft
As a bed amang the rashes O.
We're a' dry wi' drinkin' o't,
We're a' dry wi' drinkin' o't,
The parson kissed the fiddler's wife
And he couldna preach for thinkin' o't.
The down bed, the feather-bed,
The bed amang the rashes O;
Yet a' the beds is no' sae saft
As the bellies o' the lasses O.