Steugh and Reek

Arran Victors split atween the een,

Best eatin’ pratas iver ye seen,

Spread in the moss an’ cover’t wae strae,

Kep’ fae the frost tae a langer day.

Drap’t fae a rubber heel tae toe,

Plenty o’ dung tae mak them grow.

Keep the drills straicht at ony coast;

The nybors’ll see them gan tae the moss.

Stoor wud blin’ ye aff thon blak grun.

Och! weel, anither day’ll see is done.

They tell me in Englan’, in the Yorkshire Fells,

They hae a machine wae sates an’ bells.

Wullie sez he sa’ yin’s phota in a paper,

Alang wae a thing ca’ed a Combin’t Reaper.

Whut the divil’s a Combin’t Reaper?

I houl ye the scythe is a damn’t sicht cheaper.

There a lot o’ trectors noo of course,

But I’m in nae hurry tae sell mae horse.

Reek an steugh an’ a noise lake thunner;

They call it progress — whiles I wunner.