What are you a-doing? There's mischief a-brewing,

Our flocks appear troubled with restiveness;

Our cattle are straying. You ought to be playing

That horn with your old force and unction.

Of what are you thinking? In long forty-winking

Boy Blue seems forgetting his function!

You're not worth a button! That Forfarshire mutton

The Unionist meadow is munching in;

Our bonny Brigg cow, boy, now can't you see how, boy,

The Tory corn-field she is crunching in?