The man in the meen is a hardy gurran
Wi ice in his ee , an stars in his sporran
He teets in the windaes, the burns, the lochs
The puils in the cassies, the stirkies’ trochs
 
He strikks a glint frae a futterat’s cleuks
Draps spirks o fire on the weety stooks
He’s the will-o-the-wisp in the blaik pit-mirk
Crackin a spunk on the crookit birk

He kinnles a lowe in the sharn bree
Syne lichts the bawd wi her littlins three
Taps the spire o the cantie kirk
Till it’s fite’s a swan an as clear’s a dirk

He heids the onguans, at Halloween
The auldest warlock the warld’s seen
King o the ghaists an the bogles tae
He’s the leerie-man o Hogmanay

An ill-faschent carl, fa glowers aroon
The crannies an neuks o the sleepin toun
The tod an her littlins ken him weel
He’s the lamp that brichtens the hoolets’ meal

Nicht-watchie abeen the ocean wave
Guairdin the cradle an the grave
He’s a gangrel cheil o the traivellin race
Wi a pack on his back an a big, bap, face

He bedds him doon in a dubby park
Wi his quine, the gloam, an his loon, the dark
“Ta ta” sez he, “I’ll be back the nicht
Brichtenin the warld wi ma oorie lichts”