trinkie
24-Dec-06, 13:56
Div ye mind yur Christmas Stocking
by W Lyall
Div ye mind yur Christmas Stocking
That ye hung up long ago
No ai fancy plastic things
Wi everything on show,
But ai woollen kind ye wore knee length
Wi short troosers at ai school,
Ade wis a Christmas mystery pack
Han' knitted pure sheep's wool.
Ai modern socks can never match
Cos fashion's cheinged for boys ,
Ye can turn ai top o' ai ould een up
An' ade fairly fills wi' toys,
Ye could hing aid on e' mantlepiece
Wedged ticht below ai clock
Then doon ai lum comes Santa Claus
When yur sleeping lek a top.
An when ye wake on Christmas morn
Ye'r oot e bed wi a chump.
Ye see yur stocking, fit a shape
All knobbly humps and bumps.
Ye take id doon off ai mantlepiece
An wonder fit ye've got
Cos in ai days o stockings
Ye couldna ask for a lot.
An then ye see fit Santa gave
But ye dinna empty fast
Take ai contents wan at a time
Ye want ai fun till last.
A chocolate Santa's first ye see
He's first till be devoured
A sugarie peeg is next in line
It too is overpowered.
A windin car 'at's made o tin
A bag o' coloured balloons
An then a lovely shiny torch
Till examine further doon.
A tattie gun, a chocolate watch,
A top ye lash wi a wheep,
A double sided moothy
By now yur deegin deep.
A chuicy orange in ai heel
An aiple in ai toe
Some nuts thrown in ai middle
Yur doon as far's ye can go.
Ade michtna seem an awful lot
Compared till ai day it's tragic
But ai mystery, ai smell, ai knobbly bumps,
In ai ould Christmas Stocking wis magic.
by W Lyall
Div ye mind yur Christmas Stocking
That ye hung up long ago
No ai fancy plastic things
Wi everything on show,
But ai woollen kind ye wore knee length
Wi short troosers at ai school,
Ade wis a Christmas mystery pack
Han' knitted pure sheep's wool.
Ai modern socks can never match
Cos fashion's cheinged for boys ,
Ye can turn ai top o' ai ould een up
An' ade fairly fills wi' toys,
Ye could hing aid on e' mantlepiece
Wedged ticht below ai clock
Then doon ai lum comes Santa Claus
When yur sleeping lek a top.
An when ye wake on Christmas morn
Ye'r oot e bed wi a chump.
Ye see yur stocking, fit a shape
All knobbly humps and bumps.
Ye take id doon off ai mantlepiece
An wonder fit ye've got
Cos in ai days o stockings
Ye couldna ask for a lot.
An then ye see fit Santa gave
But ye dinna empty fast
Take ai contents wan at a time
Ye want ai fun till last.
A chocolate Santa's first ye see
He's first till be devoured
A sugarie peeg is next in line
It too is overpowered.
A windin car 'at's made o tin
A bag o' coloured balloons
An then a lovely shiny torch
Till examine further doon.
A tattie gun, a chocolate watch,
A top ye lash wi a wheep,
A double sided moothy
By now yur deegin deep.
A chuicy orange in ai heel
An aiple in ai toe
Some nuts thrown in ai middle
Yur doon as far's ye can go.
Ade michtna seem an awful lot
Compared till ai day it's tragic
But ai mystery, ai smell, ai knobbly bumps,
In ai ould Christmas Stocking wis magic.