It's rainin'. Weet's the gairden sod, Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod -
A maist unceevil thing o' God In mid July -
If ye'll just curse the sneckdraw, dod!
An' sae wull I!
He's a braw place in Heev'n, ye ken, An' lea's us puir, forjaskit men Clamjamfried in the but and ben He ca's the earth -
A wee bit inconvenient den No muckle worth;
An' whiles, at orra times, keeks out, Sees what puir mankind are about;
An' if He can, I've little doubt, Upsets their plans;
He hates a' mankind, brainch and root, An' a' that's man's.
An' whiles, whan they tak heart again, An' life i' the sun looks braw an' plain, Doun comes a jaw o' droukin' rain Upon their honours -
God sends a spate outower the plain, Or mebbe thun'ers.
Lord safe us, life's an unco thing!
Simmer an' Winter, Yule an' Spring, The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring A feck o' trouble.
I wadnae try't to be a king -
No, nor for double.
But since we're in it, willy-nilly, We maun be watchfu', wise an' skilly, An' no mind ony ither billy, Lassie nor God.
But drink - that's my best counsel till 'e:
Sae tak the nod.