Four and twenty Hielandmen were riding on a snail,
When up cam' the hindmost and trampit on her tail.
Oh, the snail shot out her wee horns just like a hummel coo,
'Hech' quo' the foremost, 'We'll a' be sticket noo!'
Four and twenty tailor lads were fightin' wi' a slug,
'Hello sirs!' said ane o' them, 'Just haud him by the lug.'
But the beastie frae his shell cam' oot and shook his fearsome head.
'Run, run, my tailors bold, or we will a' be dead!'
As I gaed by the mill door oot cam Miller Reid,
His cap on his feet and his breeks upon his heid.
An noo I've sung ye a' my song, I've telt it a' my friends,
It's a' big lees frae beginning tae the end!