“Oh the lion is aff the flag again
An reengin the countryside” …
Bit fin he wun ower the Muckle Mounth
He didna sikk lang tae bide!
Fur aabody Furth o the Doric North
Wis a bitticky antiqueerian
Wi a Phd. in a Lallans key
As modern as Shakespearean

Hid he bin a literary breet
He'd bin shipped tae cauld Siberia
Gin he'd roared oot “fa” insteid o “Wha”
The purists wad hae hysteria

Oh the academe, wi its bee-bunnet theme
(Weel awa frae the buts an bens)
Howk wards lang deid, tae stap in a screed
Nae ane in a thoosan kens.

“Ochone,” cries the lion, “Fit a mineer
Ye've nane o ye cheenged a bit
Wi yer wee cliques there, an yer wee cliques here
Yer aa sae thrawn, an yer aa sae sweir
That nane o ye see fur aa yer steer
Scots is a spikk, nae Haly Writ.”

“The Bible's read on the Sabbath day
(Or a twa, three times a year)
Maist ay bi a priest or a dominie
Fa's steepit his hams in lear

Fin I wis young, man, the guid Scots tongue
Roon Buchan, an Mar an Mearns
Wis alive in the mou (Nae a screive fur a few
A museum piece fur bairns)

Ye'll nae unite, gin ye fleer an flyte
Ower the verra banes o the spikk
Faith, ilkie clan hid its ain tartan
An focht fur its ain peat rikk!

Like Chaiman Mao, maun we AA kow-tow
In yer cultural reevolution?
Maun we aa sup brose in the same size dose
An takk lessons in elocution?

Maun we AA weir broon, an a Lallans goun
Maun we AA learn Scots frae a buikie?
If yon's the plan, fur the new Scotsman
He can steek it up his bihoochie!

Maun AA Scots boo tae the Embro ploo?
Can a spurgie cheep like a teuchit?
It's the same auld meen, tho ye spell it mune
Ye're a wee thing weet … We're drookit.

Gin ye canna agree tae differ” (quo he)
“It's back tae ma flag I'm gaun.”
An he lowpit awa, mane, virr, an claw
Wi a guid corn-kister sang!