Like staundin’ water in a pocket o’
Impervious clay I pray I’ll never be,
Cut aff and self-sufficient, but let reenge
Heichts o’ the lift and benmaist deeps o’ sea.
Water! Water! There was owre muckle o’t
In yonder whisky, sae I’m in deep water
(And gin I could wun hame I’d be in het,
For even Jean maun natter, natter, natter)....
And in the toon that I belang tae
—What tho’ts Montrose or Nazareth?—