Robert Burns

I’m o’er young to Marry Yet

I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young,
I’m o’er young to marry yet;
I’m o’er young, 'twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet.
 
I am my mammny’s ae bairn,
Wi’ unco folk I weary, Sir,
And lying in a man’s bed,
I’m fley’d it mak me irie, Sir.
 
Hallowmass is come and gane,
The nights are lang in winter, Sir,
And you an’ I in ae bed,
In trowth, I dare na venture, Sir.
 
Fu’ loud and shill the frosty wind
Blaws thro’ the leafless timmer, Sir;
But if ye come this gate again,
I’ll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.
 
I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young,
I’m o’er young to marry yet;
I’m o’er young, 'twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet.
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