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Robert Burns - The Ploughman`s Life
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As I was a-wand`ring ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin`, thir words he did say, -
There`s nae life like the ploughman`s in the month o` sweet May.

The lav`rock in the morning she`ll rise frae her nest,
And mount i` the air wi` the dew on her breast,
And wi` the merry ploughman she`ll whistle and sing,
And at night she`ll return to her nest back again.
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