Linn o Quoich

Fit div ye dae at the Back o Beyond?
'Twid tak me a year tae tell!
As weel coont gowd in a goblin's crock
Or steek the sea-in a shell.

Ye may lizard-lie on a lazy rock,
A sprig o an Alan Breck,
Cockin a snoot at the frichtit grouse,
That cries: “Go beck, go beck!”

Columbus-lan', it's a manless map
Wi crannies he'd niver ken,
Fur Clunie's cave is the buzzard's nest,
Rob Roy's in the fox's den.

In Crusoe creek ye may trap the troot,
As swippert's a broon Mohican,
Dook at dawn far the muir-moth dips,
A dusky-skinned Tahitan:
Rule the heath as a cateran chief,
Far the trackless stag's a fleetin.

The tap-sail o a rodden branch,
A craw's-nest bird on the keek,
Ye're spyin the Norsemen, horned and fierce,
A flock o the black-faced sheep.

Fit div ye dae at the Back o Beyond
Far nocht bit the salmon go?
Fit div ye dae at the Back o Beyond?
Fit div ye nae dae, though!