Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toon
Up stairs an' doon stairs in his nicht-gown
Tirlin' at the window, crying at the lock
Are the weans in their bed, for it's now ten o'clock?
Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin grey thrums to the sleepin hen
The dog's speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep
But here's a waukrife laddie, that wunna fa' asleep
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow'ring like the moon
Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, crawin' like a cock
Skirlin like a kenna-what, waukenin' sleepin' fock
Hey Willie Winkie, the wean's in a creel
Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee like a verra eel
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and raveling a' her thrums
Hey Willie Winkie – see there he comes.
Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean
A wee, stumpie, stousie, that canna rin his lane
That has a battle aye wi' sleep afore he'll close an ee
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me
Wee Willie Winkie
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