Who Will Mow Me Now
Oh, I have lost my rosy cheek,
 Also my waist so small.
Ah, woe be to the soldier lad,
 The soldier did it all.
 chorus: Oh, who will mow me now, my jo,
Oh, who will mow me now.
The soldier with his bandolier,
Has banged my belly full.
For I must bear the scornful sneer,
Of many a savvy queen.
 When curses on her godly face,
 Her gates as merry as mine.
 Our dame holds up her wanton tail,
 As oft as she down lies,
And yet will slander a young thing,
If she the trade but tries.
 Our dame has got her own good man,
 And loves for glutton greed.
And yet will slander a poor thing,
 Who loves but for its bread.
Alack, so sweet a tree as love,
Such bitter fruit should bear.
 Alas, that ever a merry part,
Should draw so many a tear.
 But the devil take the lousy loon,
 Denies the babe he's got,
Or leaves the merry lass he loved,
 To wear a ragged coat.
(Robert Burns)
 And I can't do without my kitchen man.