They stuck ye up oan thon hill, A’d jalouse,

Tae mak ye bigger than ye really are.

Fur noo that A’m richt up close, A can weel

See ye’re nae mair than a paukie wee byre.

But mebbe an aa tae lift oor een oan

Occasion frae the riggs an mercatplace,

An mind us that there’s muckle mair tae’t aa

Than grubbin in glaur fur oor daily breid.

An though A’ve no much aise fur ye masel,

An staun forbye ootside yer language gemm,

A’m kinnae gled ye’re there tae glower at us

An lowse oor cley-claggit feet frae the grun.