Twa Brithers

Lang-wundit Tam wus on tha phone,

He kep me on fur oors.

Ma dinnther it wus staney-coul,

A tell ye — oors an oors.

Tha phone bill it cud no be pied

By yin as poor as me,

Fur aa mae freens gan on an on,

Sich taakers dae the’ be.

If A had paper lang eneuch,

A’d tell ye in a wurd,

A micht as weel hae strangers caa,

Or buy a taakin burd,

Fur aa tha crack A gets frae them,

It’s blethers, strecht an true.

An Tam, O Tam, weel he’d be waur

Nor Despirt Dan M‘Grew.

A’ll gie ye mair, if you hae time,

An tell ye o Tam’s wye.

Jist gie’s a blaa whan ma line’s free —

Alloo at least a day!

Oul bitther Bab — there’s nane sae soor,

He leeves jist tae complain.

He girns aboot his guid wife’s fowks,

An mair aboot his ain.

O aa tha yins A cannae thole,

It’s them that niver smiles,

Or whun the’ dae, there’s aye a lach

That’s mockin, deil-like whiles.

Whun tae yer face, Bab’s nice eneuch,

Sae A gie bak his smirk.

But whan ma bak is turn’t he’ll taak —

Tha sleekit, twa-faced nyerp!

‘Guid moarnin, Bab. It’s guid tae see

Yer kinelie face yinst mair.’

A wunner whut he’s efther noo?

A doot A’ll feel it sair.

A’m gled A’m no that bitther-soor,

Lake lemons or soor-dook.

A’m gled A’m no lake Bab ava.

Tha thocht o’t gars me puke.

Bab haes a skelf in his left ee,

An Tam yin in his richt.

A thocht A’d dae tha dacent thing,

An gie them betther sicht.

Tae redd tha skelfs oot, A did hoak,

An pu wi micht an main.

But skelfs or ocht A cudnae see,

Fur boords in baith ma ain.