Ma Mither’s Tunge

Lang ago in tha schuil room bricht

Wae cane in han tae keep is richt,

Tae tha Mester ye wud list in fear —

Woe baetide tha yin that dinnae hear.

Tha mair a larned man A’m sure

An haes intentions thae wur lakely pure,

There’s yin thing A niver forgie him for,

As is tae tha nixt book he did us spur.

Hae dane haes best tae change oor tunge;

Tae him its worth wus joost lake dung.

It wus English, English, moarn till nicht,

An oor ain mither tunge wus niver richt.

Noo A ken that English haes it’s richtfa’ place

If ye’r tae succeed in tha aul rat race,

But tha best tunge A larnt wus at mae mither’s side.

Am gled she spake ‘hir wye’ wae pride.

An noo-a-dehs A dae mae best tae mine

Tha wurds that wur aroon in mae Granda’s time,

An scribble them doon, an tell tha wee waens,

“For yer Granda’s wurds mak room in yer brains”.

For tha wye A tak cums richt frae tha hairt,

An frae mae mither’s tunge A’l niver pairt,

Tha mair whiles a weeble frae time tae time,

Whun haein’ a blether doon tha telephone line.

Sae noo mae saunterin A maun stap

As mae thochts gae bak tae mae ain mither’s lap.

An tha guid Ulster-Scots that wus gien tae mae then

Wull stick in mae heid, tae mae journey’s en’.