I once witnessed a group of young(ish), educated, middle class women in the Caribbean of the 1960s (than whom there was no more tightly sheltered & protected group at that time), persuaded to mark the acquisition by one of their number of a new car by dancing round it, libation in hand, singing that old Scottish celebratory incantation, An' hey for houghmagandie
Gie The Lass Her Fairing
O gie the lass her fairing, lad,
O gie the lass her fairin',
An' something else she'll gie to you,
That's waly worth the wearin';
Syne coup her o'er amang the creels,
When ye hae taen your brandy,
The mair she bangs the less she squeels,
An' hey for houghmagandie.
Then gie the lass a fairin' lad,
O gie the lass her fairin',
An' sh'ell gie you a hairy thing,
An' of it be na sparin';
But coup her o'er amang the creels,
An' bar the door wi' baith your heels,
The mair she gets the less she squeels;
An' hey for houghmagandie.
Robert Burns
Links
Barnes & Noble: Houghmagandie
Words, Words, Words: Houghmagandie, Knockers, Trolleys and Others by Diarmaid O'Muirithe
