A’ll set him hyem hobbling,
For myeking a gam o’ Bob Cranky.
A’ll myek his noddle as reed as ma garters;
A’ve a lang stick, as weel as lang quarters,
Whilk a’ll lay ow’r his back,
’Till he swears ne’er to mak
Ony mair sangs o’ Bob Cranky.
Aw wonder the maist how he did spy,
What was dyun, when nobody was by—
Some Conj’rer he maun be,