"Ow! naething but a bit sang that I cam' upo' the ither day i' the neuk o' an auld newspaper."
"Lat's hear't," said Peter. "Sing't, Rory. Ye're better kent for a guid sang than for settin' socks."
"I canna sing 't, for I dinna ken the tune o' 't. I only got a glimp' o' 't, as I tell ye, in an auld news."
"Weel, say't, than. Ye're as weel kent for a guid memory, as a guid sang."
Without more preamble, Rory repeated, with appropriate gesture,
There cam a man to oor toon-en', An' a waesome carl was he; Wi' a snubbert nose, an' a crookit mou', An' a cock in his left ee. And muckle he spied, and muckle he spak'; But the burden o' his sang Was aye the same, and ower again: There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang. Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, And a'thegither a' wrang; There's no a man aboot the town, But's a'thegither a' wrang.
That's no the gait to bake the breid, Nor yet to brew the yill; That's no the gait to haud the pleuch, Nor yet to ca the mill. That's no the gait to milk the coo, Nor yet to spean the calf; Nor yet to fill the girnel-kist-- Ye kenna yer wark by half. Ye're a' wrang, &c.
The minister was na fit to pray, And lat alane to preach; He nowther had the gift o' grace, Nor yet the gift o' speech. He mind 't him o' Balaam's ass, Wi' a differ ye may ken: The Lord he open'd the ass's mou' The minister open'd 's ain. He's a' wrang, &c.
The puir precentor cudna sing, He gruntit like a swine; The verra elders cudna pass The ladles till his min'. And for the rulin' elder's grace, It wasna worth a horn; He didna half uncurse the meat, Nor pray for mair the morn. He's a' wrang, &c.
And aye he gied his nose a thraw, And aye he crookit his mou'; And aye he cockit up his ee, And said, "Tak' tent the noo." We leuch ahint oor loof (palm), man, And never said him nay: And aye he spak'--jist lat him speik! And aye he said his say: Ye're a' wrang, &c.
Quo' oor guidman: "The crater's daft; But wow! he has the claik; Lat's see gin he can turn a han' Or only luik and craik. It's true we maunna lippen till him-- He's fairly crack wi' pride; But he maun live, we canna kill him-- Gin he can work, he s' bide." He was a' wrang, &c.
"It's true it's but a laddie's turn, But we'll begin wi' a sma' thing; There's a' thae weyds to gather an' burn-- An' he's the man for a' thing." We gaed oor wa's, and loot him be, To do jist as he micht; We think to hear nae mair o' him, Till we come hame at nicht; But we're a' wrang, &c.