When I was young and Scottish I
Allergic was to spending;
I put a heap of bawbees by,
But now my life is ending,
Although I would my hoarded pelf
Each day I live I find myself
Though all the market I might buy,
There’s nothing to my needing;
I only have one bed to lie,
One mouth for feeding.
So what’s the good of all that dough
I should have spent it long ago
In living gaily.
So take my tip, my prudent friend,
Don’t guard your fortune to the end,
But blow it living.
Better on bubbly be it spent,
And chorus cuties,
Than pay it to the Government
For damned Death Duties.