Brocht up, lan’ loaked in Asia Minor, ah’d
Nae problem learnin hoo ti spoon ma brose
Avoidin voyages. Though life wis bad,
An bad it wis, afore the watters rose,
Aspite the scunnert, squamish, naushous boak
Engenert bi the very thocht a waves,
Ah quite looked furrit ti the proamist soak.
An built the boat, an press-ganged weans, an slaves
An beasts, an tholed the voamit an the shairn
Slapt in ma face when flung agen the wind,
An gret the seek desperr lik ony bairn
Wha’s devil-trodden, tempest-lashed, sea-pinned.
An noo, beached oan this bliddy, drookit Ben,
Ah hifti start the trauchle ower agen.