Click here to listen to this in Real Audio read by Peter D Wright

Jockie in the mornin
Owre at Pickerstane,
Crawling fae the blankets
Rubbin baith his een;
Wamlin on the canvas,
Tyauvin wi' his breeks,
Fummlin for the buttons,
Raxin baith his cheeks.

Jockie at the table
Wi' a muckle speen,
Gobblin doon his porridge
Cauler than a stane;
Splashin in the basin,
Sparkin a' the wa',
Jockie ne'er touchin
Neck or lugs ava'.

Jockie wi' his byeuckies
Slung across his back,
Rinnin doon te Memsie
Faur he'll get a whack;
Bools in baith his pooches,
Tae-caps kickit dane,
Nae a figure coontit,
Spellin's never seen.

Jockie in the corner
Lookin unca glum,
Chawin at his skailie,
Mummlin owre a sum;
Gleyin at the wifie
Writin wi' the chack,
Makin mou's an' faces
Richt ahin her back.

Jockie in the playgrun'
'Tween ane o' clock and twa,
Munchin scones an' treacle,
Kickin at the ba' ;
Turnin bonnie cart-wheels,
Stan'in on his heid,
Fechtin Wullie Wabster,
Till his nose runs reid.

Jockie sittin gapin
At the hingin map,
Thinkin o' the paitrick
Nestlin near the slap;
Listenin to the story
O' Sir Robert Clive,
Winnerin gin the Roosian's
Checkit fower or five.

Jockie wi' his byeukies
Slung across his back,
Lyterin hame fae Memsie,
Supper disna mak ;
Glowerin in at gorblins
Pu' in puddock-steels,
Puddlin in the birnie,
Grabbin oot the eels.

Speakin to the foalie
Raxin owre the yett,
Chasin flappin butteries
Till he's dreepin het;
Climmin owre the palin
Tearin a' his breeks,
Tellin mither efter,
"They've been torn for weeks."

Jockie creepin upstairs,
Back o' nine o' clock,
Face as lang's a poker
Coontin oot his trock;
Warslin 'neth the blankets,
Never giein a cheep,
Curled like a buckie
Jockie fast asleep.