The time and date is:
10:52 am Saturday, 16 December 2017
* Home

Sections
* Ballads
* Ballad Features
* Burns
* McGonagall
* Other Poetry
* Scottish Writers
* Scots Glossary

Poets
* Alphabetical List
* Featured List

Poems
* List of Topics

Songs
* Scottish Songs
* Modern Songs

Submissions
* Submit a Poem
* Submit a Song

Policies
* Copyright
* Permission
* Privacy
* Standards

Web Links
* Other Sites

Contact
* About Us
* E-mail Us

There’s Nae Moderatin Wi tha Diel ©

Marc R. Sherland
Glasgow, Scotland
2005

Up sprung Jake wi a poundin in his heid,
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, he wushed that he wis deid.
His wife sent fer tha docta, this is what he said,
“He’s drank aw tha whisky, he’s swallied aw tha ale,
This is why he feels so ill, why he luiks so pale,
Tie him tae tha bed post, go an fetch tha pail,
Tell him he’s a wikect maun, tae pull tha devil’s tail;
Tae wush yersel deid, is tae yank tha Deil’s tail,
An tae dae it thrice, yoo will dwell wi him in Haell.”

Up jumped Jake wi a poundin in his heid,
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, he wushed that he wis deid.
His wife sent fer tha midwife, this is whit she cried,
“Fetch me a bat’s wing, an a pund o’ goat’s liver,
Afore he gets fatter, he’s gonna git thinner,
Thear’s brandy in tha puddin, tha’s toads in his dinner,
He shud deny auld Nick, Oh, sic a foolish sinner.
Tae wush yersel deid, is tae yank tha Deil’s tail,
An tae dae it thrice, yoo will dwell wi him in Haell.”

Up pounced Jake wi a poundin in his heid,
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, he wushed that he wis deid.
His wife sent fer tha meenister, to hir he said,
“Dig tha deepest grave on tha far side o’ tha yaird,
He’s gonna go in, please don’t tak this wird, sae haird,
He lived a life o’ a wastral, sic a life is marred,
To Belzeub’s hearth, fer frae Heavin he is barred;
Tae wush yersel deid, is tae yank tha Deil’s tail,
An tae dae it thrice, yoo will dwell wi him in Haell.”

Doon sunk Jake wi a poundin in his heid,
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, he kenned that he wis deid.
Satan he wis waitin, a tappin oot a tune,
On some drums made o’ skull toaps, starin at tha moon,
“Welcome Jake ya jaister I’ve prepared yersel a room,
Whoar you’ll hae drink a plentae, refillin aw tae soon,
An you mist drink thaem emptae, frae December tae June;
Tae wush yersel deid, is tae yank tha Deil’s tail,
An tae dae it thrice, yoo will dwell wi me in Haell.”

Doon in that cavern, Jake is sittin still,
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, drinkin doon his fill,
An tho he’s lost tha taste fer it, still the dregs swill,
Not a freend tae visit him, tho he’s feelin ill,
He’s swimin in tha brew o’ it, developin gills,
Lucifer maks a show o’ him in a whisky stil,
He’s givain his soul fer booze, an he’s lost his will.
Tae wush yersel deid, is tae yank tha Deil’s tail,
An tae dae it thrice, yoo will dwell wi him in haell.”


Web Site by IT-SERVE © 1999 - 2017 All Rights Reserved Return to top