When I was a laddie lang syne at the schule,
The maister aye ca’d me a dunce an’ a fule;
For somehoo his words I could ne’er understand’,
Unless when he bawled, “Jamie, haud oot yer han’!”
Then I gloom’d and say, “Imph-m,”
I glunch’d, and say, “Imph-m,”
I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say—A-y-e!
Ae day a queer word, as lang-nebbits’ himsel’,
He vow’d he would thrash me if I wadna spell,
Quo I, “Maister Quill,” wi’ a kin’ o’ swither,