Luyện nghe bài hát Parish Of Dunkeld / Curlew

Oh, what a parish, a terrible
Oh, what a parish is o' Dunkeld.
They hangit their minister, droon'd precentor,
Dang doun the and fuddled the bell.

The was doun but the kirk was still staunin',
They biggit a lum whaur the bell to hang.
A stell-pat they gat and brewed Hielan' whisky;
On they drank it and ranted and sang.

O, had you but how graceful it lookit,
To see the crammed sae socially joined.
MacDonald the stood up in the poopit,
He made the pipes out the music divine.

Wi' whiskey and beer they'd and they'd swear;
argue and fecht what ye daurna weel tell.
Bout Geordie and Charlie they fu' rarely
Wi' whisky they're worse the devil himsel'.

When the hairt-cheerin' had mounted their garret,
Tae a ball on the green a' did adjourn.
The maids wi' coats kilted, they and liltit,
When tired they shook hands and then did return.

If the kirks a' owre Scotland like social meetin's
Nae ye'd need from a far-tinklin' bell,
For true love and friends wad ye thegither
Far than roarin' the horrors o' hell.