trinkie
08-Dec-07, 11:02
Ould Men o’ Poltney.
Hev ye seen ai ould men ‘at walk ai streets o’ Poltney ?
Shoulders well back and heads held high,
Stridan oot lek yeoung chiels wi a skutch o’ ai devil,
I wonder fit thur thinkin’ wi ‘at twinkle in their eye !
How can ye tell me they’re lonely… fan all the time they stop till chat,
Let me tak ye by the hand and lead ye through the streets o’ Poltney
So grab yur ould chaikid and pit on yur ould hat.
Doon by the Pilots’ Hoose we’re sure till meet ould Sanny,
Bletherin’ till his freends ‘boot days gone by
Fan he wis a fisherman oot in his boatie
Oh the nets fillled wi’ fish wad bring a tear till yur eye.
He minds the day he coorted little Nellie Miller,
An asked if she’d be his bonnie bride
Nellie smiled an nodded – for her there wis nai ither
An soon he walked up the aisle wi Nellie at his side.
Fa’s at comin ow’er ai Green? Ids yin Donal Sinclair
A fine strappin man wi a heidful o’ hair.
‘’Fits yur news ai day?’’ says he - ‘’I’m jist goin home till hev me tea’’
Bit twa hoors later he’s still bletherin’ withoot a care !
He’s wild aboot the hoosies that hev all been pulled doon,
An the state o’ the rods aroon the toon.
If he hed his way again he’d never vote for such bad men
‘’Cooncillors tell ye wan thing – then sing anither tune !’’
Mak yur way till Bexley, look there ootside Chon Cormack’s
Waitin in ai queue till buy thur fish and chips.
Wullie Gunn an’ Sandy Green – a finer pair ye’ve never seen
They’re aye in ai B B Hall since they’ve hed thur new hips.
Ye should see them dancin, struttan oot an prancin,
Wi twa bonnie lassies in their airms
Then early in ai morning – chist as day is dawning
Back up ai Harrow Hill till work on their fairms.
Doon roon ai harbour ye’ll find yin Donal Farmer
Hevin a crack wi’ all the mannies there.
He’s looking very thin – he’s been tryin hard till slim
An’ rubbin on yin stuff till mak him grow more hair !
Och Donal dinna bather- the lassies they wad rather ye left yur bald heid as it is.
Stop usin’ suncream, the aftershave and brylcream
Chist leave yur lovely shinin pate exactly as it wis !
Losh! Here’s ‘at mannie – fits his name ?
I think he’s coortan Lizzie Bain
I see him everynicht doon by the Riverside.
He’s aye wan for the lassies – the wans that don’t wear glasses
He’s already asked Maggie Gunn till be his blushin’ bride !
But Maggie’s no for merryan – till she finds a better wan
Till keep her in style, wi plenty o’ drink,
She’s no wan for cookin – though she is good lookin.
Ye’ll never find oor Maggie by any kitchen sink !
There’s yin mannie Frazer wearan a nice new blazer
An swinging his walkin stick up ow’er his heed
I mind him at ai school – aye acting lek a fool
An trying his very best till learn us all till read.
The books were ould and tattered.
Mr Frazer always shattered –
For he’d been up half aye nicht.
He wis tryan till learn ai French, he said,
He did his learning in his bed
Wi Ma’moiselle, wearin something raither ticht.
OH ! Here’s comes Geordie Harper – now ye’d better scarper
Cos he’s still mad at ye for breakin his window pane.
Ye kicked ai ball till Ronnie, fa kicked it ow’er till Chonnie
An yur lovely brand new ball wis never seen again.
So now ye can see why he’s still feelan bad
Cos the lassie that yur coortan – he’s her dad!
When ye ask him for her hand,
Be sure till gie him his favourite brand
O’ Ould Poltney Whisky – the Best in all the land .
Hev ye seen ai ould men ‘at walk ai streets o’ Poltney ?
Shoulders well back and heads held high,
Stridan oot lek yeoung chiels wi a skutch o’ ai devil,
I wonder fit thur thinkin’ wi ‘at twinkle in their eye !
How can ye tell me they’re lonely… fan all the time they stop till chat,
Let me tak ye by the hand and lead ye through the streets o’ Poltney
So grab yur ould chaikid and pit on yur ould hat.
Doon by the Pilots’ Hoose we’re sure till meet ould Sanny,
Bletherin’ till his freends ‘boot days gone by
Fan he wis a fisherman oot in his boatie
Oh the nets fillled wi’ fish wad bring a tear till yur eye.
He minds the day he coorted little Nellie Miller,
An asked if she’d be his bonnie bride
Nellie smiled an nodded – for her there wis nai ither
An soon he walked up the aisle wi Nellie at his side.
Fa’s at comin ow’er ai Green? Ids yin Donal Sinclair
A fine strappin man wi a heidful o’ hair.
‘’Fits yur news ai day?’’ says he - ‘’I’m jist goin home till hev me tea’’
Bit twa hoors later he’s still bletherin’ withoot a care !
He’s wild aboot the hoosies that hev all been pulled doon,
An the state o’ the rods aroon the toon.
If he hed his way again he’d never vote for such bad men
‘’Cooncillors tell ye wan thing – then sing anither tune !’’
Mak yur way till Bexley, look there ootside Chon Cormack’s
Waitin in ai queue till buy thur fish and chips.
Wullie Gunn an’ Sandy Green – a finer pair ye’ve never seen
They’re aye in ai B B Hall since they’ve hed thur new hips.
Ye should see them dancin, struttan oot an prancin,
Wi twa bonnie lassies in their airms
Then early in ai morning – chist as day is dawning
Back up ai Harrow Hill till work on their fairms.
Doon roon ai harbour ye’ll find yin Donal Farmer
Hevin a crack wi’ all the mannies there.
He’s looking very thin – he’s been tryin hard till slim
An’ rubbin on yin stuff till mak him grow more hair !
Och Donal dinna bather- the lassies they wad rather ye left yur bald heid as it is.
Stop usin’ suncream, the aftershave and brylcream
Chist leave yur lovely shinin pate exactly as it wis !
Losh! Here’s ‘at mannie – fits his name ?
I think he’s coortan Lizzie Bain
I see him everynicht doon by the Riverside.
He’s aye wan for the lassies – the wans that don’t wear glasses
He’s already asked Maggie Gunn till be his blushin’ bride !
But Maggie’s no for merryan – till she finds a better wan
Till keep her in style, wi plenty o’ drink,
She’s no wan for cookin – though she is good lookin.
Ye’ll never find oor Maggie by any kitchen sink !
There’s yin mannie Frazer wearan a nice new blazer
An swinging his walkin stick up ow’er his heed
I mind him at ai school – aye acting lek a fool
An trying his very best till learn us all till read.
The books were ould and tattered.
Mr Frazer always shattered –
For he’d been up half aye nicht.
He wis tryan till learn ai French, he said,
He did his learning in his bed
Wi Ma’moiselle, wearin something raither ticht.
OH ! Here’s comes Geordie Harper – now ye’d better scarper
Cos he’s still mad at ye for breakin his window pane.
Ye kicked ai ball till Ronnie, fa kicked it ow’er till Chonnie
An yur lovely brand new ball wis never seen again.
So now ye can see why he’s still feelan bad
Cos the lassie that yur coortan – he’s her dad!
When ye ask him for her hand,
Be sure till gie him his favourite brand
O’ Ould Poltney Whisky – the Best in all the land .