The Pessimist

The lift’s braw an’ clear this mornin’,
But I doot it’ll rain or nicht,
For I’ve aye said things was gyaun tae be waur,
An’ I’ve aye been richt.

The craps is leukin’ rale bonnie,
But I reckon they’ll turn oot licht,
Or they’ll scourge the lan’ an’ they winna stan’ –
Ye’ll see I’ll be richt.

Wir trade, they say, is revivin’,
But siller’s maist terrible ticht;
Fin ye’ve nocht tae spen’ an’ nae ane ’ll len’,
Ye’ll ken ‘t I’m richt.

The fowk that leuks stoot an’ sturdy
Are files the first job for the vricht;
I’m fleyed for a chiel that seems strappin’ an’ weel –
An’ near aye I’m richt.

There’s little peace in the wardle,
An’ the outlook is far fae bricht;
I said in ’14 we’d be fechtin’ seen;
Gweed kens, I was richt.

Gin ye see nae tribble afore ye,
Ye’d best gie your glesses a dicht;
It winna be lang or things ‘ll gang vrang –
They’re never aye richt.

It’s nae ‘t fae birth I’ve been scunnert
At life, although fairly I micht;
But scunner or no, fat’s comin’ll show
I’m perfec’ly richt.

I’m nae makin’ oot I’m a prophet,
I’m nae claimin’ nae second sicht;
But I’ve aye said things was gyaun tae be waur,
An’ I’ve aye been richt.