Stringin the wirds thegither,
Like a blin man threidin beads,
Fu's a puggie, hyterin happily
Breeks bumshayvelt, spayver lowsed
Ae fit forrit, three steps back:
Deef, tae peety or blame.

Abody's pal, his happiness chaiply bocht
Corked, in a bottle o' hooch.
A pint o' oblivion,
Stappt in his waistcoat pooch,
Nae quite co-ordinatin,
Half-hung-tee,
A leaky craft, in a stormy sea.
Nae giein' a hoot,
The stars skweejee,
An him wi a drooth
That wid drain the bree
Frae sharny cloot.

Sky tapsalteerie,
Grun nae level,
A coracle, facin a force ten gale
Jist Dan gaun hame, puir divil.