The Heighlin' Mosquito ©

In amang the heather
Aboon the mist an' glens,
Far peace an' tranquil gither
Aroon oor but an' bens.
Fan a'thin' seems jist perfect
An' days hiv turned oot weel,
Fan nithin' seems tae irk us
Or mak oor bairnies skweel,
A drone is heard approachin'
Runs shivers doon oor spine
The King o' a' the Beasties
Is fleein' doon tae dine.
Nae matter far we ging tae
Or far we try tae hide,
They niver seem tae miss us,
They ken far we a' bide.
We swipe 'em wi' oor hankies,
A paper bag or twa.
We squirt 'em wi' oor fizzy drinks.
They winna ging awa'.
We clart oorsells wi' ointments
Fae chemists far an' wide.
But nithin' stops these midgies
Bent on their suicide.