The Twa Weelums

    I’m Sairgeant Weelum Henderson frae Pairth,
             That’s wha I am!
    There’s jist ae bluidy regiment on airth
             That’s worth a damn;
    An’ gin the bonniest fechter o’ the lot
             Ye seek to see,
    Him that’s the best – whaur ilka man’s a Scot –
             Speir you at me!

    Gin there’s a hash o’ Gairmans pitten oot
             By aichts an’ tens,
    That Wully Henderson’s been thereaboot
             A’body kens.
    Fegs-aye! Yon Weelum that’s in Gairmanie,
             He hadna reckoned
    Wi’ Sairgeant Weelum Henderson, an’ wi’
             The Forty-Second!

    Yon day we lichtit on the shores o’ France,
             The lassies standin’
    Trod ilk on ither’s taes to get the chance
             To see us landin’;
    The besoms! O they smiled to me – an’ yet
             They couldna’ help it,
    (Mysel’, I just was thinkin’ foo we’d get
             The Gairmans skelpit.)

    I’m wearied wi’ them, for it’s aye the same
             Whaure’er we gang,
    Oor Captain thinks we’ve got his een to blame,
             But, man! he’s wrang;
    I winna say he’s no as smairt a lad
             As ye micht see
    Atween twa Sawbaths – aye, he’s no sae bad,
             But he’s no me!

    Weel, let the limmers bide; their bonnie lips
             Are fine an’ reid;
    But me an’ Weelum’s got to get to grips
             Afore we’re deid;
    An’ gin he thinks he hasn’t met his match
             He’ll sune be wiser.
    Here’s to mysel’! Here’s to the auld Black Watch!
             An’ damn the Kaiser!