Heroes ye niver hear o
Glower, mealie-mooed an beetle-brooed
At Ne'er dae weels,
Tow-rags, flee-ups, an ither gallus chiefs
Fa mak a cheery kirk or mill o' Life,
An sweeten't wi a lassie, or a drammie
The Holy Willy's safts a buttered knife
His maxim iver wis “Tak tent, ca' cannie”

Fine dis he ken
Damnations's staa's reserved fur ither men,
The orral bree o' scunnersome humanity.

He'll keep his fingers steekit in the kirk
As ticht's a sticky burr upon a stirk
Lest Deils, like hornygollachs, heeze aroon
Ettlin tae yark the yowlin sinner doon
Tho waitin in the wings,
Assured's, his Angels goun.

Fin the tormentit screch in dark abyss
"We didna ken that Hell wid be like this!"
The wirds fa clear frae Holy Willy's mou
"Weel, gin ye didna ken,
Ye ken it noo.”
Nae langer deaved wi earthly, base desire,
The Holy Willy, stokin up the fire.