Tell's doctor, div
fowk suffer frae weet-rot
And roost? I speir
for, on the trot,
it's been stottin
doon wi' oot deval
day aftir day. And
in this caul
and weet my jints
ging aa tae pot.
Some spring! Fit
hope o simmer? Nae wonder
the sun's feart
noo up yonder
tae show its face.
Black afrontit it maun
be - gress ower
weet tae cut, and fan
wi my rheumatics
will I be able? Ye foonder
chancing oot the
door; micht weel!
get swep awa,
haein tae soom like a feel
doon the street,
the toon in spate.
(Micht meet in wi'
the wifie wi the skate,
the lum-hat and
the gate yon Rorie chiel!
telt'ss o). Jist
aathing's weet and foosty
and aa my movin
pairts grow roosty!
