Last nicht in Scotland street I met a man
that gruppit my lapel — a kinna foreign
cratur he seemed; he tellt me, There's a war on
atween the Lang-nebs and the Big-heid Clan.
I wasna fasht, I took him for a moron,
naething byordnar, but he said, Ye're wan
of thae lang-nebbit folk, and if I can
I'm gaunnae pash ye doun and rype your sporran.
Says he, I’ll get a medal for this job;
we’re watchan ye, we ken fine what ye’re at,
ye’re with us or agin us, shut your gob.
He gied a clout that knockit aff my hat,
bawlan, A fecht! Come on, the Big-heid Mob!
Aweill, I caa’d him owre, and that was that.
Robert Garioch - ‘I’m Neutral’