Brithers, some quiet for a wee -
look roon the present company
an here an there I'm shair ye'll see
wi'oot yer glasses
a wheen that's no like you an me -
weel, they're the lasses.
They've leeved amang us since the faa
of Adam. Eve's daein. Efter aa
she stappit fu his gapin maw
wi rotten aipple
tho he wis steerin fine an braw
wi oats as staple.
An aye since yon it's muckle waur.
They'll gar ye trachle in the glaur
heavin an pechin, aa whit for?
Weel here's the truth o't.
Tae buy lipstick by C. Dior
an clart their mooth o't.
They'll staun an gie ye white for black
an deave ye wi their glaiket clack
but gin ye gie them logic back
they'll no confront ye
fair on, but wi a sleekit tak
jeuk roon ahint ye.
But haud, afore I tak my pew,
tae kiss a man wad gar ye grue,
sae leeze me on the beardless crew
for makin passes.
Fur aa their fauts, ye ken we lo'e
the bonnie lasses.