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
Impetuously scatter,
Each day I live I find myself
Financially fatter.
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
Accumulating daily?
I should have spent it long ago
In living gaily.
So take my tip, my prudent friend,
Without misgiving;
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.
