Well! Since everyone liked it so much, here's the whole thing! I'm going to try to get that MIDI (or at least an ABC) up by tonight.

THE PAWKY DUKE by Davie Rorie

There since was a very pawky duke,
Far kent for his joukery-pawkery,
Wha owned a hoose wi' a grand outlook,
A gairden and a rockery.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Hoot ay! An' a rockery!
For a bonnet-laird wi' a sma' kailyard
Is naethin' but a mockery!

He lived far up on Heelent glen,
Where the foamin' flood an' the crag is,
An' he dined each day on the usquebae
A' he washed it doon wi' haggis!
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Hoot ay! An' a haggis!
For that's the way the Heelanters dae,
Where the foamin' flood an' the crag is!

He wore a sporran and a dirk
An' a beard like besom bristles,
He was an elder o' the kirk
An' he hated kists o' whistles.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
An' doon on kists o' whistles!
They're a reid-heidit fowk up North
Wi' beards like besom bristles!

Then ilka four hoors through the day
He took a muckle jorum,
An' when the gloamin' gathered grey
Got fou' wi' great decorum.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Blin' fou' wi' great decorum!
There ne'er were males among the Gaels
But loo'ed a muckle jorum!

His hair was reid as ony rose,
His legs were lang an' bony,
He keepit a hoast an' a rubbin'-post
An' a buskit cockernony.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Wi' a buskit cockernony!
Ye ne'er will ken true Heelant men
Who'll own they hadna ony!

An' if he met a Sassenach loon
Attour in Caledonia,
He gar'd him lilt in a cotton kilt
Till he had acute pneumonia.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
An' a Sassenach wi' pneumonia!
He lat him feel that the land o' the leal
Is gey near Caledonia!

He never went awa' doon Sooth
To mell wi' legislation,
For weel he kent sic things to be
Unfitted for his station.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
An' weel he kent his station,
For dustmen noo we a' alloo
Are best at legislation!

Then aye afore he socht his bed,
He danced the Ghillie-Callum,
An' wi's Kilmarnock owre his neb
What evil could befall 'im?
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
What evil could befall 'im,
When he casts his buits and soupled his cuits
With a gude-gaun Ghillie-Callum?

But they brocht ae day a muckle joke
For his ducal eedification,
An' they needit to trephine his heid,
An' he dee'd o' the operation!
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Wae's me for the operation!
For weel I wot this typical Scot
Was a michty loss to the nation!


Well, maybe we should move on to a new song now, eh? Maybe when folks stop laughing...

--Mbo