THE BROON BURDIES written by Robert D Mc Lean:

THE BROON BURDIES
A flock o’ wee broon burdies wis flyin’ in the sky,
Their target wis the High Street an’ you could hear them cry,
A fella who wis passin’ an’ he looked up tae see,
But he wis juist unlucky, he got somethin’ in his eye.

The chap wis sair affronted, he took it awy sair,
Fur the stuff wis ower his guid blue suit an’ in amang his hair,
The fella stertit sweirin’, man he fairly went his mile,
Somebody ‘phoned the polis an’ he landed in the jile!

His case came up last Monday, but the judge wis awfy kind,
“Fur a’ yer dirty language, Ah really didnae mind.
But Ah’m gaun tue tell ye somethin’, Ah ken it’s awfy true.
Ah think ye wur gey lucky; it could hiv been a coo!”

Then the cooncil held a meetin’ an’ they held it awfy quick,
It wis a’ aboot the lad that got the bloomin’ nick.
An then up spoke a cooncillor, an’ he spoke up wi’ a will,
“Ah think it’s aboot high time we gied thae burds the pill”.

So a cooncillor wis elected, tae this awfu’ job,
An’ he got rewarded wi’ twa or three extra bob.
An’ he made a mixture, an’ freely used the pill,
An’ spread it alang the High Street on every windae sill.

So if ye gang doon the High Street when it’s gettin’ late,
Juist behave yersel’, an’ keep yersel’ quate,
An’ ye’re shaft tae hear a burdie gi’e an awfy yell,
“There’s somethin’ bloomin’ wrang, that’s anither empty, bloomin’ shell!”