John Tod Poem by Carolina Oliphant

He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod,
He's a terrible man, John Tod.
He scolds in the house,
He scolds at the door,
He scolds on the vera hie road, John Tod,
He scolds on the vera hie road.

The weans a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
THe weans a' fear John Tod;
When he's passing by,
The mithers will cry,
'He's an ill wean,' John Tod, John Tod,
'He's an ill wean,' John Tod.

The callants a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The callants a' fear John Tod,
If they steal but a neep,
The laddie he'll whip,
And its unco weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,
Its unco weel done o' John Tod.

An' saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod,
O saw ye nae wee John Tod;
His bannet was blue,
His shoon maistly new,
And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod,
O weel does he keep the kirk road.

How is he wendin', John Tod, John Tod?
How is he wendin', John Tod?
He's scourin' the land,
Wi' his rung in his hand,
An' the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,
An' the French wadna frighten John Tod.

Ye're sun-brint and batter'd, John Tod, John Tod,
Ye're tautit and tatter'd John Tod,
Wi' your auld strippit coul,
Ye luik maist like a fule,
But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod, John Tod,
But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod.


He's weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod,
He's weel respeckit, John Tod;
He's a terrible man,
But we'd a' gae wrang,
If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod,
If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod.