It wis a doddle; rowin yon stane till the tap
Balancin peace o' Mind ower a towerin drap
Deistit up frae the foun.
Contrary, the stane cowped doon;
A game fur the young an swack.
Bein gallus, an gey fond o hills,
I sune heistit it back
Safe, on the richt track.

Nae ill tae shove —
Consistin in the main
O barkit shins
Fechts wi louns
Wee stobs an stouns ...

Queers the wye it grew.
Neist, it wis fash wi lads.
Haein ain, or waur,
Nae haein ain.
Fash wi lear
Meanin o Life
Whit am I daein here?

Sweirer nur fiver, tae shift.
The swither o' half-road hyter
Fear o' a tummle
The same auld rummle
A muckle cairn o care
Takks aa ma smeddum tae lift
I keek back aftener nur forrit
Showders buckled wi worrit

A rollin stane gaithers nae moss
That's aa fowk ken!
Dird, dird, dirdin doon
The Sisyphus stane, again.