Sough o' war

PAE FRANCE
3*
’Twas than I got the skirp o’ shell that nail’t
me i’ the queets,
An’ here I’m hirplin’ roon the doors, an’ canna
thole my beets.
Some nichts fan I Ve been sleepin’ ill, an’
stouns gyann doon my taes,
Aul’ times come reamin’ throu’ my heid, I’m
back amo’ the braes ;
Wi’ wirms an’ wan’ I’m throu’ the breem, an’
castin’ up the burn,
Land aye the tither yallow troot, fae ilka rush
an’ turn:
I hash the neeps an’ full the skull, an’ bin’ the
lowin’ nowt,
Lythe in the barn lat oot for rapes, or track a
fashious cowt;
I watch the leevers o’ the mull swing roon for
’oors an’ ’oors,
An’ see the paps b’ Bennachie stan’ up atween
the shooers;
Lead fae a roup a reistin’ stirk, that’s like to
brak the branks,
Or hearken to the cottar wives lyaug-lyaugin’
owre their shanks;