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to this in Real Audio read by Marilyn Wright
Three wee bit puddocks
Sat upon a stane:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawe-bane.
They lookit in a dub
An' made nae soun'
For they saw a' the sterns
Gang whummlin' roun'.
Then ane laucht a lauch,
Gowpin wide his gab,
An' plunkit doun intae
the dub
But naething cud he nab:
An' wi' a mou o' mools
He cam drookit oot again:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
Anither laucht a lauch
( Wha but gowks wad soom? )
An' cockit on his staney knowe
Afore the dub wud toom;
Then he groupit i' the glaur
Whaur he thocht the
sterns had gaen:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
The hinmaist laucht a lauch,
Coostin' up his croun;
An' richt intae his liftit een
The sterns were lauchin doun.
Cauld, cauld the wheeplin wind;
Cauld the muckle stane:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
