#rabbie
Here’s a wee yin for his birthday
The hale world’s hae’in his supper
Time for a poem or a song
And a wee whisky chaser
Enjoy Rabbie’s supper
Wi that big sonsie face
And neeps and tatties
Wi nae stomach space
Every toon in Scotland
Every pub that he’s been in
Telt some odd stories
About his kith an’ kin
Telt them in auld Scots
It’s the language that he kens
If he’s got a beer in haun
He’ll pit doon the pen
Socialising wi’ pals
Whisky, beer and song
All the things to be enjoyed
An’ that cannae be wrong
They call him the bard
But he’s just a man
Wi some great stories to tell
And as many as he can.
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 1:52 PM UTC
An ither Burns night,
Has finally come alang,
If you've got an invite,
You'll hae to sing a song,
You'll soon be reciting poems,
Wi a whisky in one hand,
A haggis in the ither,
You'll be feeling mighty grand,
Daein wan o Rabbies,
Or wan you've writ yersel,
Gie it public airing,
You'll hae us in a spell,
Once the night's ower,
Poems spinning round yer heid,
Burns night is for aw body,
It's a pity that he's deid.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Ken a' these auld Scots words,
The wans that we've forgot,
Why are we no using them,
It's because we wernae taught,
At hame wi' mither an fathir,
Speaking all and proper,
First day at school,
Speech becomes a cropper,
All yir mates at school,
Coming oot wi' words like bowff,
Saying them in the hoose,
Yir fathir says watch yir mouth,
Rax me oor the poorie,
As ma grama said to me,
Asking her whit she meant,
Gies the milk jug fir ma tea,
Fab technology today,
Smert phones and iPad,
They missed oot wan thing,
The language o' my grandad,
Skype, that's a new word,
Sounds a bit like Scottish,
Was it tae clip you round the ear hole,
That word should be abolished,
If yir no Scottish,
Rabbie's words are a' daft,
All the words that came out o' him,
That was the man's craft,
Whit aboot these well kent lines,
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Sorry aboot that Rabbie,
Stealing that was totally misplaced,
Oot o' bed on wi' ma baffies,
Tae pit them on I need tae sit doon
Sittin' on the chair wi' ma bahookie,
Missed the chair fawing like a loon,
When yir oot daein the gowf,
And yir breeks are a' in a runkle,
Dinnae be a feart tae tac them aff,
If you've got them in a fankle,
Deekin oot the windae,
Stramash on the doon the road,
Some folk getting a doin',
Ithers getting a carry code,
Polis got there quick enough,
Must have a been a hunner,
Saw the big yin there,
He was the heid ******
The rammy wi the radges
Was just oot side the offie,
Jings crivvens help ma boab,
Some went ben the bothy,
We're all **** Tamson's bairns,
We a' just want tae learn,
We can do it wi' the Scots,
It's a language that we yearn.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
I'm just back frae The Kirk
Doon Canongate way,
Afore yi get tae Parliament,
That was brand new yesterday,
Way back tae the 1700's
A poet in his grave,
Fergusson the poetry man,
He couldnae be saved,
Banging his heid in a fa'
Tumbling doon a' the steps,
Hadnae sterted livin' yet,
His poetry had some depth,
Rab trained as a minister,
He abandoned fir poetry,
At the age of twenty two,
With no heart for the ministry,
He took a job as a copyist,
Tae earn a crust tae live,
Probably hated it,
So much poetry for tae give,
If he wis alive the today,
He'd be pertying in Ibiza,
DJing wi' the discs,
Rapping like a geeza,
He was only 24,
At Cape Club he'd dae a gig,
I'm sure he enjoyed himsel',
It's something that he did,
After the fa',
Darkly melancholic,
Depression followed,
He wisnea an alcoholic,
Straight to Edina's loony bin,
Then ca'd Darien House,
On Bristo Street used to stand,
Can't think what'd be worse,
He was born in 1750,
Died penniless in '74
Unmarked grave in Canongate,
Nae headstane was in store,
Many years later,
Head stane was selected,
Rabbie Burns inspired,
Was paid fir an' erected,
The date upon the stane was wrong,
Hopefully wis being changed,
By Robert Louis Stevenson,
But died before old age,
Grave is now restored,
Tae it's former glory,
Ironwork and stane cleaned,
But it's no the end o' story,
A statue wis erected,
On the street ootside the Kirk,
The way they positioned him,
He's on his way tae work,
You'll see the Parliament building,
If you wander doon the road,
Poems and poetry on the wa's
But none in Fergusson mode,
It seems he's been forgotten,
In this day and age,
Someone with his talent,
Wan o' Edina's greatest sage,
Let's hope we'll see his poetry,
On Scotland's parliament wa,
I dinae mean graffiti,
I mean poetry fir a'.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC