An’ mony the mistakes a man’ll get intil his heid,
But the maddest o’ delusions mad wi’ which some folks are fillt,
Is that ye suld gang tae Scotland, gin ye want to see the kilt
For a’ the year I hevna seen a single kilt but ane—
A wee bit white-legged Coackney wha’ was trudgin’ through the rain;
The water it was pourin’ owre his knees intil his shoes,
An’ eh! but he was wishin’ for a pair o’ honest trews.
Na! gin it’s kilts ye’re wantin’, dinna win sae mony miles!
Jist bide at home in Lunnon toun and gang tae Seven Dials,
An’ there amang the coasters, hurdy-gurdies, dancin’ bears,