I have this on my 'to do' list but having traded midges for mosquitoes I haven't got round to it yet

THE MIDGE SONG -- Sheila Douglas


Did ye hear o the settler wha cam tae the glen
An bocht the laird's castle for a wee but an ben
Pit in central heatin and painted it braw
But he couldnae get rid o the midges at aa
They bit aa his fingers, they bit aa his toes
They bit knees and elbows, they bit ears and nose
They bit every bit that the blighters could bite
An they kept up their bitin baith mornin an night

He tried creams and lotions o every kind
He tried every remedy that he could find
But it never detered them whene'er they zoomed in
Tho he even tried rubbin his hurdies wi gin
He scratched an he clawed, he clawed an he scratched
Till pairts o his body were soon needin patched
The midges came back an they bit him some more
An he clawed in some places he'd no clawed afore

He blew smoke upon them an sprayed them wi turps
But that only led to a few farts and burps
He couldnae get sleepin because o the itch
So he tried oot a spell that he got fae a witch
He cursed them all but an he cursed them all ben
He cursed them the lenghth an the breadth o the glen
He cursed them in Latin, Swahili and Dutch
But the midges spoke Gaelic an didnae care much

When his posh freens cam northward tae fish an tae shoot
They hardly got started when they had tae scoot
The midges cam in, in their battle formations
An the glen soon resounded wi loud exclamations
They ran thro the heather, they ran thro the gorse
The midges cam after them, out in full force
They ran roon in circles an in zig-zag lines
An last seen were headin strach doon the M9

The settler went back tae his posh but an ben
An sat doon an thocht whit he could dae then
As he doctored his midge bites wi a bottle o malt
He lamented his fate, felt it wisnae his fault
But he up sticks an left on the very next train
An swore he'd no come tae the Hielans again
But the midges were mournin all thro the pinewoods
For they'd voted the settler their favourite food

So it's no more forever noo doon in the glen
For strange are the ways o midges an men
They set off in dozens stracht doon the M1
Tae seek oot that settler wha'd gien them such fun
They socht him in Yorkshire, they socht him in Kent
They asked aa the bees an wasps which way he went
One day he'll wake up all bitten an sore
An he'll never get rid o those midges no more.

Jack