Millions o’ wimmen bring forth in pain
Millions o’ bairns that are no’ worth ha’en.

Wull ever a wumman be big again
Wi’s muckle’s a Christ? Yech, there’s nae sayin’.

Gin that’s the best that you ha’e comin’,
Fegs but I’m sorry for you, wumman!

Yet a’e thing’s certain.—Your faith is great.
Whatever happens, you’ll no’ be blate!…

Mary lay in jizzen
As it were claith o’ gowd,
But it’s in orra duds
Ilka ither bairntime’s row’d.

Christ had never toothick,
Christ was never seeck,
But Man’s a fiky bairn
Wi’ bellythraw, ripples, and worm-i’-the-cheek!…

 

from A Drunk Man Looks at Throbbing Thistle