Noo man, hoo can ye think it richt
To waste your time, nicht after nicht,
An’ hunker in the failin’ licht
Wi’ moody broo,
Like some puir dwinin’ thewless wicht
Wi’ death in view?
I've taul’ ye aft aneuch it's nae
As if ye'd aught‘ at's new to say,
Or said auld things some better way,
Or like some callants
Gat fouk to praise your sangs an’ pay
Ye for your ballants.
Instead o’ vreetin’ like a clerk
Till bed-time brings alang the dark,
Ye should be sportin’ in the park
An’ hear the clamour
Wad greet ye, should ye pass my mark
Wi’ stane or hammer.
Or tak’ a daunder roon’ the braes
An’ hear the blackies pipe their lays,
The liftward laverock's sang o’ praise,
An’ syne, my billie,
Mak’ nae mair verses a’ your days —
Shut doon your millie.