Crowdieknowe

Oh tae be at Crowdieknowe
When the last trumpet blaws,
And see the deid come lowpin owre
The auld gray waws.

Muckle men wi toosled beards,
I grat at as a bairn
‘ll scrammle frae the croodit clay
Wi feck o swearin.

And glower at God and aw his gang
O angels in the lift
– Thae trashy bleezin French-like folk
Wha garred them shift.

Fain the weemun-folk’ll seek
Tae mak them haud their row
– Fegs, God’s no blate gin he steers up
The men o Crowdieknowe.