SCOTS HOOSE Favourite Poems THE SELKIRK GRACE

SCOTS HOOSE Favourite Poems

THE SELKIRK GRACE by Robert Burns Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit

CA-CANNIE by Sheena Blackhall Fowk say that ye are fit ye eat Sae ca-cannie fin chawin yer meat Swiss rolls an paninis luik daft in bikinis An petticoat tails hae nae feet!

MINCE AND TATTIES by JK Annand I dinna like hail tatties Pit on my plate o mince For when I tak my denner I eat them baith at yince. Sae mash and mix the tatties Wi mince into the mashin, And sic a tasty denner Will aye be voted ‘Smashin!’

THE MAGIC PIZZA by Alison Fitt Eh’m a pizza, a magic pizza, Bein stuck in the freezer’s a scunner – So eh grew twa legs an oor ago An fae Tesco Eh did a runner. Eh’ma pizza, a gaen-mental pizza, Eh’m skitin doon the street, An giein a muckle cheesy grin Tae the dumfoonert fowk Eh meet.

Eh’m a pizza, a please-mehsel pizza, Eh can dae whitiver Eh like – Fleh wi cheese and tomatae weengs Or gae dancin doon a dyke. Eh’m a pizza, an oan-the-rin pizza, The polis are efter me – But they needna think that ony o them Are haein me fur thir tea. Eh’m a pizza, a thumb-yir-neb pizza, Eh’ll tell them tae git loast. Oh jings – Eh’m a puggilt pizza noo – Eh’ve stertit tae defroast!

CROCODILE by JK Annand When doukin in the River Nile I met a muckle crocodile. He flicked his tail, he blinked his ee, Syne bared his ugsome teeth at me. Says I, "I never saw the like. Cleaning your teeth maun be a fyke ! What sort of besom do ye hae To brush a set o teeth like thae? " The crocodile said, "Nane ava. I never brush my teeth at aa ! A wee bird redds them up, ye see, And saves me monie a dentist's fee. "

NESSIE by JK Annand Nessie the Loch Ness Monster Wad seem to be gey blate, And doesna like the scientist chiels That come, and sit, and wait. But gif ye want to see her Pretend ye dinna care, Keek oot the corner o your ee Ye'll see her soomin there. She'll wiggle-humphie-waggle, She'll goggle wi her een, Syne disappear ablow the loch Like she had never been.

A DUG, A DUG by Bill Keys Hey, Daddy, wid ye get us a dug ? A big broon alsation ur a wee white pug ? Ur a skinny wee terrier, ur a big fat collie? Aw, daddy, get us a dug. Will yi ? Whit! An' whose dug'll it be when it durties the flerr, An' wets the carpet and messes the sterr? Its me ur yer mammy'll be tane furra mug. Away oot'n play. Yer no getting a dug. But daddy thur gi'en them away Down therr at the RSPCA. Yu'll get wan fur nothin, so ye will. Aw. Daddy, get us a dug, Will ye?

Dji hear um? Oan aboot dugs again? Ah think that yins goat dugs'n the brain. Ah know whit yu'll get: a skite oan the lug If ah hear ony merr aboot this bloomin dug. Aw, Daddy, it widny be dear tae keep An‘ ah'd make it a basket fur it tae sleep. An‘ ah'd take it fur runs away ower the hull. Aw, Daddy, get us a dug. Will ye? A doan't think thurs embdy like you: Yi could wheedle the twist oot a flamin' corkscrew. Noo! Get doon aff my neck. Gies nane a yur hugs. Aw right. THAT'S ANUFF. Ah'll get yi a dug. Aw Daddy. A dug.

THE AULD BROON TROOT by Sandy Thomas Ross The auld broon troot lay unner a stane, Unner a stane lay he, An he thocht o' the wund, An he thocht o' the rain, An the troot that he uist tae be. A'm a gey auld troot, said he tae hissel, A gey auld troot, said he, An there's mony a queer-like Tale A cuid tell O' the things that hae happened tae me.

They wee-hafflin trooties are aa verra smert, They're aa verra smert, said he, They ken aa the rules O' the gemm aff by hairt, An they're no aften catched, A'll agree. They're thinkin A'm auld an they're thinkin A'm duin, They're thinkin A'm duin, said he, They're thinkin A'm no Worth the flirt o' a fin Or the blink o' a bonnie black ee. But A'm safe an A'm smug in ma bonnie wee neuk, A'm safe an A'm snug, said he, A'm the big fush that Nae fusher can heuk, An A'll aye be that - till A dee!

THE SCHULE IN JUNE by Robert Bain There's no a clood in the sky, The hill's clear as can be, An' the broon road's windin' ower it, But - no for me! It's June, wi' a splurge o' colour In glen an' on hill, An' it's me wad be lyin' up yonner, But then - there's the schule.

There's a wude wi' a burn rinnin' through it, Caller an' cool, Whaur the sun splashes licht on the bracken An' dapples the pool. There's a sang in the soon' o' the watter, Sang sighs in the air, An' the worl' disnae maitter a docken To yin that's up there.

A hop an' a step frae the windie, Just fower mile awa, An' I could be lyin' there thinkin' O' naething ava'. Ay! - the schule is a winnerfu' place, Gin ye tak it a' roon, An' I've no objection to lessons, Whiles - but in June?

SLAISTER by JK Annand Mum cries me a slaister, Says naethin could be waur Nor mellin sand water And slaisterin in the glaur. When I'm aa glaur and slaistert And clarty as a tink Mum maks a graith o soap suds And plops me in the sink. Syne when I'm washed and tidied And clean as clean can be My Mum gies me a cuddle And maks me chips for tea.

THAT'S THE GAME by Jill Bennett A poem, huh Ah could eat a poem Tak a bite Get ma teeth intae it Rattle it roond ma gums Chew real slow Spit a word oot Kick it alang the street Play keepie-uppie wi it Heider it Bring on a substitute Score a goal A poem, huh That's the game

MENZIES Traditional A canty wee lassie cried Menzies Speired, "Dae ye ken whit this thenzies? " Her Maw, wi a gasp, Reponed, "It's a wasp! And ye're haudin the end whaur the stenzies!

FIREWORKS AFF THE CASTLE by Matthew Fitt Fireworks aff the Castle Goin WHEECH, WHEECH Bairns in the library Gettin WHEESHT, WHEESHT Cans o Irn Bru Goin SKOOSHITAY, SKOOSH Fitbaw in the playgroond Gettin DOOSHITAY, DOOSH

The snaw blaws in fae Norroway And nips your TAES, TAES We go skitin on wir sledges Doon the BRAES, BRAES The rain comes doon in buckets And it’s WEET, WEET Your teeth is sair fae sweeties And it’s GREET, GREET

You’re oot wi pals and aw the time It’s BLETHER, BLETHER But when awthin’s wrang and no goin right Jist go and tell your MITHER When awthin’s wrang and no goin right Jist you coorie in wi MITHER

TWA-LEGGIT MICE by JK Annand Ma mither says that we hae mice That open air-ticht tins And eat her chocolate biscuits And cakes and sic like things. Nae doot it is an awfy shame That mice should get the blame. It’s really me that ripes the tins When left alane at hame. But jings I get fair hungert And biscuits taste sae nice But dinnae tell ma mither For she thinks it’s the mice!

BEASTIES by Helen Cruickshank Clock-leddy, clock-leddy Flee awa' hame, Your lum's in a lowe, Your bairns in a flame; Reid-spottit jeckit, An' polished black e'e, Land on my luif, an' bring Siller tae me!

Ettercap, ettercap, Spinnin' your threid, Midges for denner, an' Flees for your breid; Sic a mischanter Befell a bluebottle, Silk roond his feet - Your hand at his throttle!

Moudiewarp, moudiewarp, Howkin' an' scartin', Tweed winna please ye, Nor yet the braw tartan, Silk winna suit ye, Naither will cotton, Naething, my lord, but the Velvet ye've gotten.

Street Talk by JK Annand There was a rammie in the street, A stishie and stramash. The crabbit wifie up the stair Pit up her winda sash. “Nou what’s adae? ” the wifie cried, “Juist tell me what’s adae. ” A day is twinty-fower hours, missis, Nou gie us peace to play.

“Juist tell me what’s ado, ” she cried, “And nane o yer gab, ” cried she. D’ye no ken a doo’s a pigeon, missis? Nou haud your wheesht a wee. “I want to ken what’s up, ” she cried, “And nae mair o yer cheek, ye loun. ” It’s only yer winda that’s up, missis. For guidsake pit it doun.

THE BOY IN THE TRAIN by Mary Campbell Smith Whit wey does the engine say Toot-toot? Is it feart to gang in the tunnel? Whit wey is the furnace no pit oot When the rain gangs doon the funnel? What’ll I hae for my tea the nicht? A herrin’, or maybe a haddie? Has Gran’ma gotten electric licht? Is the next stop Kirkcaddy?

There’s a hoodie-craw on yon turnip-raw! An’ sea-gulls! — sax or seeven. I’ll no fa’ oot o’ the windae, Maw, It’s sneckit, as sure as I’m leevin’. We’re into the tunnel! we’re a’ in the dark! But dinna be frichtit, Daddy, We’ll sune be comin’ to Beveridge Park, And the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!

Is yon the mune I see in the sky? It’s awfu’ wee an’ curly. See! there’s a coo and a cauf ootbye, An’ a lassie pu’in’ a hurly! He’s chackit the tickets and gien them back, Sae gie me my ain yin, Daddy. Lift doon the bag frae the luggage rack, For the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!

There’s a gey wheen boats at the harbour mou’, And eh! dae ye see the cruisers? The cinnamon drop I was sookin’ the noo Has tummelt an’ stuck tae ma troosers I’ll sune be ringin’ ma Gran’ma’s bell, She’ll cry, ‘Come ben, my laddie. ’ For I ken mysel’ by the queer-like smell That the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!’

A VOODOO FOR MISS MAVERICKby Sandy Thomas Ross I dinna like Miss Maverick This cushion's for heid I'm jumpin aw ma weicht on it And noo Miss Maverick's deid. Ye're deid, ye're deid, Miss Maverick And never mair ye'll say I dance like a hird o Ayrshire kye On a mercat day. I'll pit ye ablaw the sofa Ye're deid and yirdit baith An never mair ye'll miscaw me - Ye've drawn yer hindmaist braith.

THE CIRCUS by JK Annand The circus cam to our toun And settled on the Green; They heistit up the biggest tent That I hae ever seen. And there for twa-and-saxpence He let me in to see Some acrobats up in the ruif Dae henners on a swee.

Pownies danced the cha-cha, Monkeys rade on bikes, They even had a fitba match For teams o mongrel tykes. The best turn in the circus was The clown in baggy breeks That gart me lauch until the tears Cam rinnin doun my cheeks.