The Blast--1875

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 out ower the plain, Or mebbe thun'ers.

Lord safe us, life's an unco thing! Simmer and Winter, Yule an' Spring, The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring A feck o' trouble. I wadna try 't to be a king-- No, nor for double.

But since we're in it, willy-nilly, We maun be watchfü', 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.