THE DUSTY MILLER – Poem by Robert D McLean:

THE DUSTY MILLER
Wan night, wi’ pockets fu’ o’ siller,
Ah landed in The Dusty Miller,
That cosy tavern fu’ o’ cheer,
That sells the finest heavy beer.
An’ hooses yin by name o’ Ann,
A lass admired by every man,
A lassie wi’ a canty style,
An’ ayeways has a bonnie smile.
This night as Ah supped ma favourite drink,
Ah seen a sight that made me blink,
George, a dear an’ favourite freen,
Fur donkeys years Ah hudnae seen,
We clasped each ither’s hauns in pleasure,
At regainin’ such a long lost treasure.
We bided, boozed an’ blethered,
An’ tae that cheery pub got tethered,
We talked o’ things that we wid dae,
If we ruled the land as fae this day.
Thatcher an’ her gang sae vile
We’ throw them a’ tae rot in jile,
Hospital wards that were shut,
Wae that evil, fascist slut,
We’d open these places wide again,
Tae cure the folk an’ ease their pain,
Nurses, the angels o’ the land,
We’d make their life style great an’ grand,
Nae herm tae auld folk wid befall,
Nae auld craturs wid dee o’ cauld.
Nae greedy yuppies, nae mair strife,
Wance mair we’d hae a decent life,
An’ Thatcher’s power at last wid cease,
An’ wance again we wid ha’e peace.