Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."

Got some hair upon my head
looks ok some girls have said
but if I stoop or look right down
wallop my bright gleaming crown!
A heli landing pad she says
and laughs at my next grumpy gaze
well knit me a wig, or maybe a hat
or cover it with a piece of mat!
We do felt making that could work
no I would look a ruddy berk....
Colour it in with a magic marker
do my grey so I go darker
Stop it all I've had enough
hirsutism proving way to tough
stick with what is clinging on
enjoy what's left before it's gone!

Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her ******' taps turned oaf by the ******' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?

-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own ******' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the ****'s wee hand in the other yin.

Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his ******' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her ******' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee ****,eh?

-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?

Wake up and use me, with your rapier wit,
that cynical whirlpool of jobbies,
your ****** heid of *****,
the way you address an audience is so funny
and the way you dress, comedy, loose and snooky,
you make me puke, puke, pukey.
******* my fragile mannequin,
oh you have bad breath.

Eh like playin fitba wee meh Dad,
It's so funny and a wee bit sad
'Cause when eh beat him he gets mad.

Eh like playin fitba wee meh wee lassie,
She plays fitba like Shirley Bassey,

Meh Dad canny tackle, he's so mince.
He devs in and taks awa meh pins.

Meh lassie heiders the ba  wee the back o her heid,
Like a fish oot o water
Just before it's deid.

Ah didny recognise him fae the eulogy.
The meenister'd nivver met the lad, Ah could see.
A hero?  Aye, mibbe.  Jist a name tae maist ay these fowk.
But ah kent im as a boay,
the daft wee scapegoat, ayewis in boather,
but nae real hairm in im.
He wis the lad wha'd get skelped, the noise
makkin the teacher turn is heid
jist in time tae spot im skelpin back.
Mairched tae the heidie again.
"Yir a bad lot, Barry.
Yir faither wis a bad lot too."

Puir Baz.
Da in the jile,
Ma aff her face on smack,
an him, daft, funny, doomed.
If onybody at hame had cared enough
tae keep the schuil photies,
they'd have shown a wee freckly laddie
wi a too-open grin,
year eftir year,
jersey gettin tattier,
teeth getting gappier,
still grinnin while the rest ay us
were far too cool tae smile for the camera.

Ah liked im.
Didny unnerstaun how the teachers
were sae ***** tae im.
There wis far badder boays in the year.
Ricky ****** Jackson - a nasty, sleekit wee body,
yankin ab'dy's strings.
But his da wis rich
an the teachers fawned ower im.
No Baz, though.
Cannon fodder, richt enough.
Tackin the flack fir the rest ay us.

Exactly the kind ay lad
the ******* Army thrives on.
Ah canny feel the patriotic pride,
canny picture the self-sacrifice,
the heroism.
Ah can juist see im,
daft an grinnin,
daein whit he wis tellt
an gettin killt.

Mind you,
he wis aye headin for the poppies, that yin,
One wey
or anither.

"From the outside looks like I belong outside,
the tears of a clown-always on the inside
to go outside,I'm hesitatin-sweatin,,
give it one more hour til the meds kicks in,
ah,back on the inside,food run-job done,,
didn't heed the inner voice-"Run Forrest Run",
sweatin' in Tesco's,temper and distemper,
slam,lock my door,give a little whimper,
keepin' this front up is slowly killing me,
friends don't believe I suffer from anxiety,
not a common sight introvert,no stage fright,
turning into a vampire,never out in daylight,
hard to explain-confidence is a con,
even my mates can bring a panic attack on,
a social world yeah-connected society,
modern day Hermit,trapped by anxiety,

"counting flowers on the wall" chorus"
countin flowers on the wall that don't bother me at all,
playin' solitaire til dawn with the deck of 51

theres so much treatment available! you say,
the first catch 22 of a brand new day,
go to the doctor,then I'm tongue-tied,
ending up with Flu shots,cause I just lie,
strangled on anguish,put on a brave face,
tear back to the gaff, the only safe place,
a basement tan,rarely show my face,
mistakes of the past I wish I could erase,
fake smiles for those who wish me well,
between the devil and the deep blue sea,ah well,
"it could always be worse" was my childhood's call,
pull your socks up,chin up, don't shame us all,
"he's such a ******,all he does is read alone",
I'm still grinnin,and bearin',don't want to moan
I've got my net and my gaming,and my OCD,
like I've told you before don't worry 'bout me,

"counting flowers on the wall" chorus"

this is it,the end-the nadir,rock bottom,
I'd swallow a gun or load of pills if I'd got em,
It's a breakdown,meltdown,shutdown,sad clown,
take a crane to turn THIS frown upside down!
finally told my mates I WASN'T OK...
(tick,tick,tick)the clock churns away,
then the shock on their faces turns to concern,
first hug near broke me-floodgates turned,
I was a friend in need,with true friends indeed,
so if you're suffering in silence try and pay heed,
get out of your "aun heid" your soul needs to feed,
and there's only so much a sole soul can bleed,
take advice from one who had a foot in the grave,
don't let society turn you to a slave,
take pleasure in the small things,hear my call,
so you can spend less time counting flowers on the wall"