Car-loads o scunners on the haik,
Brigades o' Sabbath swanks,
Troosers pressed hard as tramlines
Thick-skinned, as Kaiser's tanks.

"Visitors," quo granny, "Are like fish.
Kept ower lang, they stink."
Meanin, of coorse, the crabbit, an perjink
That rin condemnin crannies through the stoor;
Cry in-by fur ae meenit — streetch it till an oor.
Yon's the kin' I'd sweep aneth the mat
Guid-sakes — fit's aa yer hurry?
Here's yer hat!