1999 – “The Supper”

by untangledwebl


Bard’s Oration 1999

The Supper


The Xmas bottle is no more,

New Year’s was drunk under wifely glow’r,

It’s bitter cauld wi Janwar win,

And aince again – nae Lottery win.


But we’re na quite upon oor uppers,

For this is the season o’ Burns Suppers,

Yes, its cam that time again,

Especial tae Balerno men.


Wha set off the nicht for haggis bashing,

And tae gie the uisquiba a thrashing,

Tae sample spirits and fine ale,

Yet live again tae tell the tale.


Noo if ye a will pay attention,

There’s men that’s worthy o a mention,

And groups o’ others shall be nameless,

Although I promise – naething shameless.


The first I’ll name is auld McCaig,

As hairy as a winter naig

Wha seldom kens jist whit to wear,

But aye taks pairt – o’ that I swear.


The second is Mr Ramsay – Wull,

Wha glow’rs as if looks wad kill,

Nat a drop will pass his lips,

Till he’s done wi’ his fish and chips.


Gordon Grant he micht be there,

Wi hair, that’s noo mair gray than fair,

He’ll be dressed in his glad rags,

And reek non stop frae these cigars.


Often early and then hame late,

It has to be oor James Tait,

Intelligent, oor Jim’s no fool,

Despite his muffler o Shetland wool.


Russell the teacher could be there,

An if he is we’ll say a prayer,

For while his words are fu o’ licht,

They micht just end tomorrow nicht.


Martin Mitchell should be there,

Da’en Holy Willie’s Prayer,

Like that man he tells some fibs,

An’ whits worse – believes in Hibs.


Let’s no forget the lawyer lads,

Some are really no that bad,

Some tae the moon should go in rockets,

For having their hands in ither’s pockets.

Some polis there will cut a dash

But dinna listen tae their snash,

Jist speak softly wi a lilt,

“They’re a’ wearing stolen kilts”.


Wi’ ithers fae a walks o life,

Regardless o’ their trouble an strife

They come tae have a guid nicht oot,

And win a raffle prize tae boot.


Aye, some just come tae sit and listen,

Wi foaming pints and een that glisten,

In words tae some that won’t sound foreign,

In the I.M. by Ian McSporran.


But, at their heid sits A J Hood,

By noo weel stappit up wi food,

An as he hears this , Ill bet he’ll think,

Leeze me quick on some mair drink.


For the nicht is waited for a year,

And I’m sorry that I cant be here,

But sincerely tae each yin and a’

Have a guid nicht at “Let it Blaw”



Jimmy Johnstone

January 1999