A CURE FOR CARE
by Castlegreen. c. 1965



Fan ye trauchle day an nicht an things'll no go richt
An 'e worries o' iss weary world are leidan' ye a dance,
Chist get oot yur fisheen' gear an' yur cares'll disappear,
For ye canna fish an worry both at wance.


If e wife's toungue winna halt an id's alwiz ye at falt,
An ye'd lek till get a word in bit ye niver get e chance,
Tak yur rod an seek 'e watter an' ye'll find yur cares'll scatter,
For ye canna fish an worry both at wance.


If yur wife's 'e dressy kind wi notheen else in mind
An ye're gettan grey ahint 'e loog wi hur extravagance,
Leive 'er till hur silks an satin; Ye get goan for Loch Watten,
For ye canna fish an worry both at wance.


If ye're single ye can smile ! Weemen fairly cramp yur style
An fan yur mind's on fisheen' they think only o' romance,
Ye can weary o' a wife bit ye love a loch for life
An ye canna fish an worry both at wance.


If ye're scunnered wi e tricks o e' chiels in politics
An ye canna trust a word they say in any circumstance
Dinna worry fa's e boss, pit yur trust in Peter Ross,
For ye canna fish an worry both at wance.


They've got pooders now, an pills for ivry kind o' ills,
An 'e doctors mak a song aboot thur medical advance,
Bit what's more tranquillisan' than till find e troot are risan,
For ye canna fish an worry both at wance.


Och, e world's aye in a hurry an life's fill o care an worry
Wi fowk reduced till Purple Herts till pit them in a trance,
A tell ye there's more future in a weel-tied Bloody Butcher,
For ye canna fish an worry both at wance.