I kicked an Edinbro dug-lover’s dug,
leastweys I tried; my timing was owre late.
It stopped whit is was daein til my gate
and skelpit aff to find some ither mug.
Whit a sensation! It a clockwark thug
suid croun ye wi a brolly owre yir pate,
the Embro folk wad leave ye til yir fate;
it's you, maist like, wad get a flee in yir lug.
But kick the Friend of Man! Or hae a try!
The Friend of Wummin, even, that’s faur waur
a felony, mair dangerous forbye.
Meddle wi puir dumb craiturs gin ye daur;
that maks ye a richt cruel bruitt, my! my!
And what d’ye think yir braw front yett is for?
Robert Garioch, 1909–. © Acknowledged.