Greetins frae tha Wizard

I say, Wull, will ye larn me the Lancers,

For I’m thinking o stertin tae coort?

Ach! I ken they’re nae rush, for I’m joost fifty twa,

But they’re naethin lik’ makkin a stert.

It’s weel know’t, Wull, that you ir an expert.

Still, ye micht hae a job on yer hans,

But them dances be’s crowd’t wae lassies,

An big Cromie seys you ir mae man.

Ye’ll dae it, weel! That’s mair than dacent,

You takkin me unner yer wing.

An while I’m getting shape’t at the dancin’,

Cud ye explain twarthry ither wee things?

For the kerfufflin an huggin an squeezing

Is things that I niver hae try’t.

So geen I mak ony shape at the dancing,

Cud ye school mae in them things forbye?

Och! Och! Wull, that soun’s a wile biss’ness.

Mae poor heid is a’ in a bizz.

What wye dae I whisper sweet naethins tae hir,

Whun I daen’t know whut sweet naethins is?

Grup hir whur, dae ye sey?!! Aw!! My heavens,

She micht keek mae an try tae get redd.

That’s eneuch aboot coortin for yin nicht,

I’m awa hame tae gang tae mae bed.

Ye hae sa’ mony things in yer life, Wull —

Wile changes, aye, some o them bad —

But ye tane a’ in yer stride an change’t wae them,

Still as hearty as ony young lad.

Yer a man that I always luk up tae;

Yer tapes gie me fuel for dreams.

I wush ye a gran dey for yer birthday,

An I’m proud for tae cry ye mae freen.