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Bruce Clark Dick
Forfar, Scotland

Theirs' patches on ma wellies,
Frae a puncture repair kit.
Theirs' patches on ma wellies,
But I'm comfortable wi it.

A wore them aw through autumn,
Fir shufflin through the leaves,
Chuggin like an auld steam train,
In drifts up tae ma knees.

A wore them aw through winter,
Fir trudging through the snaw.
Wi faither's fisherman's socks on,
Aw wisn't cauld at aw.

A wore them in the springtime,
In dubs and puddles deep,
And splashed in an oot o burns,
But ma wellies didn't leak.

In summer ma faithful wellies,
are shunted alo the bed,
It's time fir serious training,
a wear ma trusty sannies instead,

Fir rinnin, an jumpin,
they were the best,
W'i socks at ma ankles,
Baggy shorts, an a vest.

I wis a sprinter, I wis a miler,
I wad even had Rodger Bannister beat,
Fir he niver trained in wellies,
Or haed smelly,sweaty feet.

So nou the summer's ending,
The birds no longer sing.
It'll soon be time fir ma wellies,
An the patches that they bring.

An aw'll pull them on,
like guid auld freends.
An aw widn'e change a thing.

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