For these are the ones
Wha stand on the sidelines
Like hunters wi guns.
luvebites o efternoons
wither unner tweed;
Kirkyaird, nicht – the hoastin yird
Astir aneath a smit-smuir shrood
He’s five year auld, he’s aff tae school,Fairmer’s bairn, wi a pencil an a rule,His teacher scoffs when he says ‘hoose’,‘The word is “house”, you silly little goose.’He tells his Ma when he gets backHe saw a ‘mouse’ in an auld cairt track.His father laughs fae the stack-yard dyke, ‘Yon’s a “moose”, ye daft wee […]
Runner beans are affa fit
Sproots are fine an swack
At Mill O’ Tifty there lived a man
In the neighborhood of Fyvie
He had a bonnie dochter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie
Hey, daddy, wid yi get us a dug?
A big broon alsatian? Ur a wee white pug,
Ur a skinny wee terrier ur a big fat bull.
Aw, daddy. Get us a dug. Wull ye?
Shote! here’s the poliss,
the Gayfield poliss,
an thull pi’iz in the nick fir
pleyan fi’baw in the street!
See ma mammy;
says eat yer dinner.
Gies me cabbidge.
Old Davie still did much farm work by hand.
/ Tae thin neeps, ye gae up an doon thae rowse.
He minded dem getting torpedoed i da White Sea,
hit blew da boo clean aff.
Da Bulksheid, he held though an dey limpit inta Arcangel,
whaur shu wis lashed ta da peir, an micht still be dere yet.