To the fishers of Gjendin the bold Skipper spoke:
‘There is one two-pound pot that as yet is unbroke;[1]
So rouse ye, my gallants, and after our tea
Let us “go for” our Keiller’s[2] own Bonnie Dundee.’
(Chorus.) Come! up with the Smör![3] Come! out with the Brod,[4]
We’ll have one more Spise[5] that’s fit for a god;
Come, whip off the paper and let it gae free,
And we’ll wade into Keiller’s own Bonnie Dundee.
You may talk of your mölte[6] with sugar and milk,
Your blueberry pasties, and jam of that ilk;