The Hoose O The Cacklefart Hen: (23 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.The Fickle Fire
'The flame tuik fast upon her cheek, tuik fast upon her chin
Tuik fast upon her faire bodye, she burned like hollins green'
From the ballad Young Hunting/Earl Richard, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, (Volume II of three) , Sir Walter Scott.

Fire that cleans the stibble park
That keeps alive the hairth
Warms the banes an heats the pot
Reid star, drapt doon tae earth

It brunt the twa-fauld carlin-wife
The ootlinned Jew, the traiveller
It brunt the buik, the heretic
Adulterer an dissenter

Kind an cruel it sains or kills
It tortures or relieves
See it flichter, twa-faced jaad
Kent stranger neth the eaves


2.Warld in a Plant Pot: Inspired by My World: Ivan Rahuzin (b1919) Zagreb. Gallery of Primitive Art Yugoslavian naive painter

There aince wis a clachan, a pie-shaped clachan
Wi slices o river an muir, in its hett intimmers.
Oh, it wis a giant sunflooer o an airt
An airt for giants tae daunder, wi rowin knowes
An days fin rain peppered the reefs.
Aathin wis gleg an blithe in its Heilan howes.

Wikks war buiks openin, ilkie foreneen,
Steekit at nicht, wi picturs o merle,
Mavis, the ivory stems o bagpipes
Fishin rods, kelpies (seen an dwaumed)
An a lift the colour o opals.

I could keek for oors in the face o a copper puil
Fin Sabbaths war kirk bells, choirs,
Wud gean flooers faain, sarks on the line,
Heistin lumberjack airms in hame-ower Halleujah.

This clachan wis my playgrun, my leal frien.
Noo, like a neuk in an auld cathedral's side
I haud its ungents sacred, a host thrice blessed.
I am becam my granmither, grey fog on a rock.

Eenoo the Coyles o Muick's cauld corries glent
The larick's skein o boughs is brandy-broon
A wren, hings bi a threid. I saw a stirlin,
New killt on the road, its feathers shakkin.

Aft-times in sleep, I'm back in this same airt
It's aywis nicht, the hills ableeze wi starns
Naethin is left alive bit the derk river.


3.Queenie

Her fitman carries her buits an sheen, her heidman cairries her croon
An polar bears in their icy lairs wad kill for her ermine goun

Her corgies sit wi their serviettes roon plates o pedigree steak
Fin she's aff tae bag a couple o stags or engaged in affairs o state

Her fillins are 19 carot gowd. Spa watter fills her shooer
Fin jeelies are made for her birthday bash, they're heich as the Eiffel Tour

An hunners o busbies staun aa day tae gie her a wee bit cheer
Like the Forth Road brig, tae clean her hoose the skiffies wirk as year

Naebody else has a Queenie like oors wi her heid on coins an bars
Tae gie oot honours tae Sirs an Earls an rock an fitbaa stars!


4.The Hoose o the Cacklefart Hen

Atween Chartered Accoontants, an Screw-its Tool Hire
There's a buikshop wi treisurs that's sure tae inspire.
There's a richt hurlygush o fowk: customers, choosers
Stravaigers in brogues or in kenspeckle troosers

There's page-turners, flechers, there's kecklers an flickers
There's wifies in sandals an cream cami-knickers
Aa threidin their wye throwe the final editions
An wydin ben sonnets an poetry submissions
Watched ower bi a stag's heid wi whiskery lugs
That sings in the shop, as it hodges an shugs.
Beau Nash cam tae veesit, decidit tae stop
He's the maist loyal customer here in the shop


5.The Backie

Ahin, there's an orchard, wi fish puils an plums,
Far hinney bees whizzle ben reid pollen crumbs
Three Muses keek oot frae a table's blaik legs
An a muckle fat puddock lowps ooto the seggs

There's a Celtic heid vrocht fae an auld Druid-stane
An a Buddha that smiles: (he's a neuk o his ane)
There's a maiden seat yonner for maidens tae wyte
For the whinney o shelt an the kiss o a knight

Twa thrissles staun flankin an iron fit-scraper
And a puckle wee trees fur a squirrel micht caper
Here, boorichs o poets sit lauchin an newsin
In dreidlocks an toories, while tea is infusin
In Alice in Wunnnerlan teapot... wi toast
Served up on a plate bi a gweed-hertit host

The slate reef is auld. In the warm, scentit air
A kirk bell that's cracked cries the faithfu tae prayer
Ower braw Chinee pots skail reid trails o Tam Thumbs
Wi dragons as furly's the rikk ooto lums
(Fand in Chelsea posh hooses an Callander ferms)
Here a sundial keeps time...there's nae eyn tae the cherms
O this backie, fa's waa rins wi green ivy linns
An a Greyfriar's Bobby's stauns guaird ower the bins

There's a sieve for removin the nits frae horse hair
There's a birk that's been Bonsaied, There's foxgloves oot there
Far bumbees could creep, if they're seekin tae hide
It's a gairden far Thomas the Rhymer micht bide


6.The Up-Abune Chaumer

In an up-abune chaumer, there's timmer swordfish,
There's three cheena doos heckty-peckin a dish
A Victorian roaster for chestnuts at Yule
A plinth haudin violin bows, an a jewel
0 a pictur o Venice's auncient canal
Auchtermuchty's auld brig, and an elephant shawl

There's photies o weemin in lang lacey smocks
Battalions o volumes an thick worsit socks
A keekin glaiss haudin a hidden spy-hole
(wad suit a James Bond or an MSP mole)
Candelabra an tea clippers, beached an lan-lubbit
And, wytin fur Easter, a porcelain rubbit

A buik aboot mongrels, gods, freaks, unbelievers
Aboot oddbams, tinks, heidbangers, saunts an deceivers
Sits wi Suffragettes, framed aside Em'ly Pankhurst
An a Leda, that buxom, her bra should hae burst


7.The Kitchie

The coo jugs are Dutch. The Feng-Shui's their ain
The brakkfest bar's traivelled fae hyne-awa Spain
A wummin glowers doon fae an up-abune deck
In a keekin glaiss peintit bi Toulouse Lautrec.

Berry pans hotter wi bree frae the vine
Makkin soups o young carrot an blackberry wine,
Coriander an cucumber, herbs fae the glen...
By a wee peintit coop wi a cacklefart hen.

Japanee plates wi a smachrie o brie
Sit bi Rochester Ginger, an green herbal tea
There's a Delft coffee grinder. There's fennel, there's spice,
Faith, it's stappit wi aathin frae rhubarb tae rice!


8.The Lobbies an Stairs

There's a Newel stairwye (for a left-haundit cheil)
There's rosemary hung on the ceilin, as weel
As a wheen peintit puppets, (Ms. Plath an Ted Hughes)
An eneuch buiks tae service a roon-the warld cruise

There's an elderly Teddy wi grey jogger's paps
An a stuffed, dozy zebra, fa dovers an draps
His heid ower a volume o erudite prose
A Scots Dictionary, propped neist tae his nose
While Finlay an Whisky, the resident cats
Step ower auld photos o chiels in cravat


9.The Lavvie

Sic a lavvie! The door hauds twa porcelain flooers
Ye cud cock on yer dowp, clean dumfounert fur oors
Watchin goblets o gowd ringed in derk emerald green
An a ted up abune wi a glent in his een
He's watchin ye piddle, leave nae single dreep
Fur he'll ken an he'll clype, sae be dry on the seat.


10.The Lave

There's a coffee- pot weirin a Prussian Duke's topper
That luiks like a Dalek's bin steepit in copper
There's a white merble leopard, a goddess abune,
There's a bust o Napoleon's wife, Josephine

There's leather for buik-bindin, pictures o kye
An the Saltire and Reid Scottish lion, ootbye
There's a bellus, aince used on a smith's roarin fire
There's even a room for a coo tae retire
Eftir grazin the girse since the braikk o the dawn....
Wis there iver a hoose as weel-fittit as thon!
It's pliskies oot-ploy Downing Street's Nummer Ten
Hurrah fur the Hoose o the Cacklefart Hen!


11.The Civic Shield

Aiberdeen toun. The heraldic shield's
Twa leopards uphaudin three castles
Plaistered ower letter heids, ceevic speens,
Rubbish bins, the antrin sweemin puil.

I've niver seen ane rinnin ben the cassies
I've niver seen ane purrin roon the Green
We're the leopards...the castles, oor toun biggins
We canna cheenge oor spots, us leopard fowk
St Nicholas an St Machar ay staun stinch
Tho councillors come an gyang wi each election
The grey sea scrats its claws at oor back yett
Sattin the weety san wi foamy slivers

Fin ile rins oot in the rip cord o the future
The toun, the fowk, the spikk'll ay be here
We'll flick wir tails, set aff fur ither prey.


12.Bairntime

I luiked in my granmither's memory an fand:
An ice cream scoop that wummled on my lip
Nasturtiums far gollachs cam tae sip
A wave that brukk in cups on a beach trip

I luiked in my faither's memory an fand:
A littlin's feet splish -splyterin in a puil
Lessons o bawd an erne in Natur's schuil
A troot that lowped an cheenged intae a jewel

I luiked in my mither's memory an fand:
Reid sandals that maun nae be scoored or scuffed
A sharger joy that maun be earned nae snatched
An Autumn park far winter shaddas hatched

I luiked in the sun's memory an fand:
A ley o girse that reeshled like a sea
A galleon in the tap branch o a tree
Freedom tae rin ayont the bouns o me


13.The Tiger

Let's nae tell a sowl, but oor hoose has a tiger
Wi a lowe, an a skirl, an a killer inside her

She dines upon heroes. She teirs at her cages
She's restless in taxis. She rins an she rages

She's cweel fin she raxxes her cleuks on the mat
Let's nae tell a sowl, but oor tiger's a cat!


14.The Butterflee

The lift wis cushie-grey... an azure-blue
A thunner-mix. Reef slates seemed varnished weet.
Fa'd think thon antrin trysts ye shruggit aff
Like rain frae ile-skins I wad myne on yet?

I met ye first fin Simmer trees were fu
0 birds an rain. The weety sun was sealed
Inbye a purse of pearl, like yer hairt
Ye were the biggest flirt fa played the field

The evenin TV'd cleared the street o bairns
Rowans were reid as splyterins o bluid
I stood, neb pressed agin the buik-shop pane
While buses made a spreidin fan o dubs

Aneth the dreich umbrella o the day
I felt yer finger rinnin doon my spine
An unread buik. Ye leuch. I luiked awa
An read in ilkie wink a deeper sign

Ye'd had yer fingers burned. Yer wife bedd leal
Turned butterflees tae aisse fa neared yer flame.
My teasin ghaist, there's pleisur in the weet
That frae the yird, brings echoes o yer name


15.Crossin the Border

Great Waa o Cheena, miles o cloud an drap
Frae Shanghai Pass tae Lop Nur in the west
Snakes ower heich Bens, a steeny showder strap
A muckle stammygaster, biggt tae laist

Tae Antoninus Pius' ploy, it's kin,
(thon girssy-theekit borderline o rock...)
Thon dyke, that Caledonians stude ahin
Tae gie the hee-haw tae it, an tae mock

Sic Roman virr an smeddum laid tae waste
Fur, as the auld spikk rins, tho they be stoot,
Bigg't ower centuries, or vrocht in haste
Snibbed yetts jist keep an honest body oot.

The dynasties o Ming an Mongul kings
Maun birl like peeries in their regal yird
Tae see fu fremmit hordes hae sprootit wings
A plane hurls roon the warld like a gird

As lang as fowk can lowp an planes can flee
Like Auld Canute, fa tried tae stop the tide
A border's bit a sieve o leakin bree
Gin fowk are thrawn, they'll win the ither side

Far dis oor Scottish border rin eenoo?
Ower lan or sea, in air miles or in state
Is it the leid that's fashioned in the moo
Or far like-mindit bodies congregrate?

The Falkirk motto is 'Touch ane, touch aa'
In Aiberdeen, the motto's Bon Accord
Fur ilkie chiel that biggs a Chinee Waa
There's fifty at its foun wi fire an sword.


16.The Ridin o the Pairliament: The third session o the Scottish pairliament,300 years efiir the 'eyn o an auld sang'

The touns o Falkirk, Stirlin, Airdrie, Ayr
Perth, Dundee, Dumfries, Aiberdeen an North
Waukened tae news fae Lunnon..a bombscare
Terror an floodin far ayont the Forth

In Embro, fowk war met on blyther ploys
Oor phoenix pairliament maun rax its wings
Three hunner year since it wis brunt tae aisse
It clears the haar ooto its throat an sings

The auldest croon in Europe played its pairt
That sat awhile on mony's the royal heid
Squired intae pairliament, tae stert the day
Tae fire the smeddum in oor leaders bluid

Oootbye, a mixter-maxter kinna crew
A dizzen banners, a hale clanjamfrey
Stinch academics, ushers, polis, guairds
Culture an Science, Sport an Industry
A hobby horse, Blaik Angus, hobbits hirplin
Madam de Pompadour on lanky stilts
Twa Gaelic choirs...a Chinee dragon birlin
Japanese drummin, hett chillis in kilts
In siller armour, merched the Shetlan Jarls
Berserker warriors in reindeer skin
Wyved aixes, skirled alood like steekit bulls
Admired bi hauders on an hingers in

Here, wis Montrose dragged in the hangman's cairt
Here, Jenny Geddes raised a soople airm
Here, Robert Fergusson gaed jinkin by
Here, Mary lay in jizzen-bed wi bairn
Her peintit mummers, lairds, her warrior bards
Yet thrang the hauntit cobbles o this street
Sic ghaists hae wauked these cobbles, banner-hung,
This Royal Mile far Past an Present meet

The Ridin ower, the riders tuik the air
Queued fur their picnic, sookit in each sicht
Their empire biscuit wi industrial jam
Sae sweir tae brakk, the shortbread held on ticht

A chiffon-wippit wifie sank in girse
Skyrie in Ascot hat an teeterin heels
A tartan sahri'd lassie dowpit doon
Watchin the wide-screened skirl o echtsome reels
Abune the frienly claik, the clink o glaiss
On the horizon, snipers lay upbye
Their silhouettes o blaik upon the reefs
A grim necessity agin the sky

The Heivens opened ower Dynamic Earth
Doon Salisbury Crags it cowped a linn o weet
Fowk warssled fur their bus, like drookit rats
A lauchin bairn gaed plyterin ben the street.

Twis meant tae be a day o perfeck joy
Weel-guairded guests, performers, Heids o State
While Embro celebrated, Glesga vrocht
Tae dowse the lowes o terror an o hate.


17.Royal Rumours

Fowk say Prince Albert wore a ring aroon his nether pairts
Tae stop his manhood risin up, fin quines wi beatin hairts
Daunced near the Royal personage. Thon prince o auncient bluid
Wis ower strang a moralist, tae let lust rule his heid.

He aye stude tae attention, niver let Victoria doon
The man fa gaed us Xmas trees, the mainstey o the croon.
His legacy wis mournin hair, his famous Albert chyne,
And a sonsie brood o princelins, tae cairry on the line.
Fowk say that Jack the Ripper micht hae bin a future king
Prince Eddy, Albert's grandson: bit fowk say onything.


18.Three Scots Owersets o Poems bi John Clare
I Am: Owerset frae John Clare
'I Am' was written by John Clare in the Northampton General Lunatic Asylum. The House Steward of the Asylum, transcribed the poem for him and it appeared in the Annual Report of the Medical Superintendent of Saint Andrews for 1864. It is said to be the last poem Clare wrote.

I am: yet fa I am nane kens or cares,
My friens forsak me like a thocht forgot;
I'm etten up bi waes, like swallaed tares
They brier an dee, an unattendit lot
Like shades in love and daith's untendit plot;
An yet I am! and live wi shaddas fraught

In mids o naethin'ness, its sair stramash,
Inno the leevin sea of waukent dwaums,
Far there's nae sense o life, nor joys tae fash,
Bit the braid shipwrack o my ain life's plans;
An e'en the dearest- that I lued maist strang-
Are fey- faith, raither feyer than the thrang.

I lang for airts far man has ne'er stravaiged;
A neuk far wumman niver grat nur leuch;
Yonner tae bide wi Him, fa aathin made,
An sleep as does a bairnie, sweet eneuch:
Nae tribbles there tae grue, or gar me shift;
The girse ablow—abeen the ootraxxed lift


The Nest o the Mavis: Owerset frae John Clare

Inbye a hawthorn buss, spread thick an wide
That hung, a yirdy mowdie-hill abune,
I heard a mavis sing at mornin-tide
Hymns tae the dawn, an I drank doon the soun
Richt cheery; an betimes, an unsocht guest,
I watched her secret tcyauve frae day tae day -
Foo weel she wyved the fog tae bigg a nest,
An vrocht it ooto timmer twigs an clay;
An syne, like hare-bells skirpt wi skinidin dyew,
There lay her sheeny eggs as bricht as flooers,
Ink-skitterins ower shells o greeny blue;
Yonner I watched alang the sunny oors,
A swatch o natur's sangsters cheep an flee,
Gled as the sunshine in the heavens sae hie.


The Brock: Owerset frae John Clare
Fin midnicht chaps, a heeze o tykes an men
Gyang oot tae dog the brock tae his derk den,
An stap a pyoke inno the hole an lie
Till thon auld snocherin brock gaes shauchlin by.

He comes, takks tent -they lat the strangest free
The auld tod draps his goose at the melee
The poacher sheets an hashes frae the cry,
An the auld bawd hauf hurtit bizzes by.

They takk a forkit stick tae haud him doon
An clap the tykes an takk him tae the toun,
An deave him aa the day wi gurrin dugs,
An lauch an skirl an fricht the skitterin hogs.

He rins alang an bites at aa he meets:
They skreich an skirl doon the soundin streets.
He birls aroon tae face the hale set-oot
An tae their ain doors gars them turn aboot.

Aft-times a steen is flang as on he pechs
Fur aabody's a fae fin a brock fechts
The tykes are clapped, tae charge an bare their mawe
The brock furls roon an drives them all awa.

Though he's scarce hauf their size, a craitur sma,
He fechts wi tykes for oors an beats them aa.
The muckle mastiff, coorsest o the breets,
Turns hamewird an lies doon, tae lick his queats.

The bulldug kens his match an waxes cauld
Brock grins an niver sikks tae leave his hauld
He drives the hale kiboodle bi the heels
An bites them through - the piss-heid sweirs an reels.

The frichtit weemen haul the loons frae sicht
The bully lauchs an swaggers tae the fecht.
Brock tries to reach the wids, an unca race,
Bit sticks an cudgels quickly stop the chase.

He birls again an drives the skirlin crew
And beats the heeze o tykes, an gars them grue.
He drives awa an beats them ilkie ane,
An syne they lowse the rick-ma-tick again.

He faas as deid, is kicked by loons an men,
Syne sterts an grins an drives them back again;
Till cloured an riven, threwshed, the fecht upgies
Laid low, brock keckles, gaes a girn, and dees.


19. Scots Owersets o Poems by Anne Sexton (1928 —1974)

Young: Owerset frae Anne Sexton

A thoosan yetts langsyne
fin I wis a lanely bairn
in a muckle hoose wi fower
garages an it wis Simmer
as lang as I could myne,
I lay on the girse at nicht,
clover lirkin aneth me,
the wyce starnies sleepin abeen me,
my mither's windae a funnel
o yalla heat rinnin oot,
my faither's windae, half steekit,
an ee far sleeper's pass,
an the boords o the hoose
war smeeth an fite as wax
an likely a million leaves
sailed on their fremmit stalks
as the girse-lowpers ticked thegither
an I, in ma spleet- new body,
which wisnae a wumman's yet,
telt the starnies ma speirins
an thocht God could really see
the heat an the peintit licht,
elbucks, knees, dwaums, goodnicht.


Wirds: Owerset frae Anne Sexton

Ca-cannie wi wirds,
even the eildritch anes.
For the eildritch we dae oor best,
whyles they heeze like gollachs
an leave nae a sting but a kiss.
They can be as guid as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
ye clap yer dowp on.
Bit they can be baith gowans and clours.
Yet I am in luve wi wirds.
They are doos faain oot o the ceilin.
They are six haly oranges sittin in ma lap.
They are the trees, the shanks o Simmer,
and the sun, its physog fu o virr.
Yet aften they lat me doon.
I hae sae muckle I ettle tae say, s
ae mony tales, picturs, proverbs, etc.
Bit the wirds arenae guid eneuch,
the wrang anes kiss me.
Whyles I flee like an erne
wi the wings o a Jenny-wren.
Bit I try tae ca-cannie
an be gentle tae them.
Wirds an eggs maun be haunlit wi care.
Aince brukken they are ayont repair.


Reid Roses: Owerset frae Anne Sexton

Tommy is three an fin he's coorse
his mither daunces with him.
She pits on the record,
'Reid Roses fur a Blue Leddy'
an haives him ower the chaumer.

Mind ye,
she niver laid a haun on him,
anely the waa laid a haun on him.
He gets reid roses in different neuks,
the heid, thon time he wis as sleepy as a river,
the back, thon time he was a brukken tattiebogle,
the airm like a diamond hid bitten it,
the shank, twisted like liquorice stick,
aa the daunces they did thegither,
Blue Leddy an Tommy.

Ye fell, quo she, jist mynd ye fell.
I fell, is as he telt the doctors
in the muckle hospital. A fine wifie cam
an speired him questions bit because
he didnae wint tae be sent awa, he said, I fell.
He niver said onythin else although he could spikk fine.
He niver telt aboot the music or foo she'd sing an skirl
haudin him up an haivin him.
He makks on he is her baa.
He tries tae fauld up an stot bit he squishes like fruit.
Fur he lues Blue Leddy an the spots
o reid reid roses he gies her.


20.Twa Owersets intae Scots o Poems bi Hans Magnus Enzensberger

The Hinnereyn o the Hoolets (Owerset frae Hans Magnus Enzensberger)

I spikk fur nane o yer kin
I spikk o the hinnereyn o the hoolets.
I spikk fur the flounder an whale
In their unlichtit hoose,
The seven-neukit sea,
Fur the glaciers
They will hae calved ower sune
Corbie an doo, feathery witnesses,
Fur aa thon fa bide in the lift
An the wids, an the fog in chukkies,
Fur them wioot paths, fur the blae bog
An the awesome Bens.

Glowerin on radar screens,
Interpretit ae hinmaist time
Aroon the briefin table, fingeret
Tae daith bi antennas, Florida's swamps
An the Siberian ice, breet
An buss an basalt, throttled
Bi Earlybird, circled
Bi the latest manoeuvres, ayont help
Aneth the hoverin firebells,
In the tickin o crises.

We're aa guid as unmyndit
Dinna scutter wi the orphans.
Jist teem yer hams
0 its langin fur nest eggs
Glory, or psalms that winna roost,
I spikk fur nane o ye noo,
Aa ye plotters o perfeck coorsenesses,
Nae fur me, nur for onybody.
I spik for those fa canna spikk,
Fur the deef an dumb witnesses,
Fur otters an silkies,
For the auncient hoolets o the yird.


Bill o Fare (Owerset frae Hans Magnus Enzensberker)

Ae teem efterneen, the day
In my hoose I see
Throw the kitchie yett, ajee,
A milk joog a chappin boord
An ashet fur the kittlin.
A telegram lies on the table
I hinna read it.

In a museum in Amsterdam
In an auld picture, I saw
Throw the kitchie yett, ajee,
A milk joog, a breid basket
An ashet fur the kittlin
A letter lay on the table.
I hinna read it

In a Dacha on the Moskwa
A fyew wikks syne, I saw
Throw the kitchie yett, ajee,
A breid basket, a chappin boord
An ashet fur the kittlin.
A newspaper lay on the table
I hinna read it.

Throw the kitchie yet, ajee,
I see skailt milk
Thirty years' wars
Tears on chappin boords
Anti-rocket rockets
Breid baskets
Class wars.
Laigh doon in the left neuk
I see an ashet fur the kittlin.


21.Praise-Sang o a Midgie myndin on a feast frae the Hurdies o Post War Brownie Baby-Boomers at a Ballater Simmer Camp

Gie me a belly-fo o bluid,
Frae Broonies, fed on dauds o breid
An hamburgers, fair ower the heid
Wi reid sauce. Wee balloons,
They're mair tae midgies' taste ye ken,
Than leaders o platoons
0 Girl Guides, Scouts or Boys' Brigade,
Wi hochs as dry as prunes


22.A Dirge fur British Rail

Wad passengers wytin on platform 19,
Desirin tae traivel as far's Aiberdeen
Takk note that it's late, sae ye've aa twa mair oors
Tae bide here in Embro, tae sample its tours,
Its howfs an its shoppies...is thon nae a boon?
British Rail his arranged a wee brakk in the toun!

The food service north o Montrose is shut doon
(Fit need they o meat north o Angus, ma loon?)
Due tae cleanin, stock-takkin, an teemin the till
Ye should be relieved....coffee jist makks ye ill!

There's nae reservations...there's nae seatin plan
(A mishanter doon Sooth) ...faith, it's better tae staun
For sittin encourages deep vein thrombosis
Piles, middle aged spread, even myxomatosis

The laavies are chokit, the cairraige is blockit
The luggage rack's stappt an the trolley's nae stockit
There's five sweirin ilemen aa drinkin frae cans
Noo on comes a fitbaa team's rip-roarin fans!

Yer thinkin the decor's gey auld on the cheers?
Ye should thank us fur botherin tae patch up the teirs!
I canna wirk miracles, snaa on the line
Will shift fin it's ready tae melt. Gie it time!

In Japan, trains are fined gin they're twa meenits late?
Ye ken the solution frien...jist emigrate


23.The Cod an the Berry

Ken in the year 3003?
Ye'll see a straaberry sweem in the sea
Ye'll see a cod in a bush o breem
Ye'll see a coo ett a chukken been

Eftir the eco-wars are lost
Fit'll be left tae coont the cost?
A hare wi fins in the cauld blin-smore
An a twa-headit dug at Pluto's door