Ah hear, ma freen’ that yer no weel, A ken, exactly, hoo ye feel! Heid, fair thumpin’, throat like lint, Wee nose, wi’ wipin’, nearly skint. The “cure”, m’dear? – keep a boatle handy, Be it whisky, gin, or even brandy, And frae it sip – no yince – but often – It will soon yer thrapple soften! A ken the doctor kens mair than me (or so it says on his doctor’s degree!) And he keeps up to date wi’ readin’ “The Lancet” But ma “cure” is fun! Why dinny ye chance it?! If yer fit by Sunday, Ah’ll see ye then, At the choir practice, roon about “ten” But, if no, jist keep oan wi “the Cratur” Yer bound to git better, sooner or later!