Mill o’ Tifty’s Annie - by
At Mill O’ Tifty there lived a man
In the neighborhood of Fyvie
He had a bonnie dochter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie
Scots
A Dug, A Dug - by
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?
Fi’baw in the Street - by
Shote! here’s the poliss,
the Gayfield poliss,
an thull pi’iz in the nick fir
pleyan fi’baw in the street!
Sarah: Fed Up - by
See ma mammy;
says eat yer dinner.
Gies me cabbidge.
Field Days - by
Old Davie still did much farm work by hand.
/ Tae thin neeps, ye gae up an doon thae rowse.
/ Leave…
Murmansk - by
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.
Drumneachie Ferm - by
The ferm wis a peat shed, a stack o hackit kinnlin
The ferm wis reeshlin corn and a tattiebogle
Old Tongue - by
When I was eight, I was forced south. Not long after, when I opened my mouth, a strange thing happened. I lost my Scottish accent. Words fell off my tongue: eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit stummer, teuchter, heidbanger, so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma, shut yer geggie or I’ll gie you […]
Dr Wha - by
Wha’s jist a thoctie in anither’s heid?
Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor s^he?
Cradle Sang - by
Fa’ owre, fa’ owre, my hinny,
/ There’s monie a weary airt;
/ And nae end to the traikin,
/ For man has a hungry hert.
/
/ What…
Here’s the Weather - by
Fae stooshie tae fankle tae bouroch tae dreck / we’re steeped in the downpour of dialect.
/ …
Breenge - by
This morning, as the 372 shoogled
/ through Carsethorn, hirpled
/ wabbit past the kirk and through
/ dreich smirr hoyed down from
/ droukit braes above,…